THE   LETTERS        //?£ 


AW  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU. 


EDITED    BY 


MRS.    HALE, 

JTHORESS    OF    "WOMAN'S    RECORD,"    "  NORTHWOOD,"     "MANNERS,"    ETC. 


"  The  equal  lustre  of  the  heavenly  mind, 
Where  every  grace  with  every  virtue  joined, 
Learning  not  vain,  and  wisdom  not  severe, 
With  greatness  easy,  and  with  wit  sincere."  —  Pope. 


REVISED   EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1884 

18 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

ROBERTS       BROTHERS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE  ! 
PRESSWORK  BY  JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  REVISED   EDITION. 


There  are  many  by-paths  to  the  knowledge  of  mankind  in 
general,  and  of  illustrious  individuals  in  particular,  where  the 
dignified  Muse  of  History  never  deigns  to  lead  us.  She 
shows  us  kings  and  heroes,  describes  wonderful  spectacles 
and  great  battles,  embodies  religious  movements  and  mighty 
revolutions,  —  subjects  that  we  ought  to  know  and  that  we 
like  to  know;  but  there  are  many  subordinate  personages, 
incidents,  circumstances,  perhaps  more  interesting  because 
nearer  to  us  in  feeling,  that  we  can  only  learn  through  the 
aid  of  familiar  memoirs,  autobiographies,  and  especially  pri- 
vate and  contemporaneous  letters.  These  last  give  us  the 
surest  information  about  the  ways  and  means  of  actual  life, 
the  most  minute  details  and  various  images  of  the  real 
thoughts,  feelings,  passions,  and  pursuits  of  people  and  of 
periods. 

Every  age  (and  every  society)  has  its  peculiar  tone,  acting, 
for  the  time,  as  a  sort  of  atmosphere,  which,  in  spite  of  any 
isolation  or  eccentricity  of  character,  will  influence  every  per- 
son it  surrounds.  This  tone  is  nowhere  to  be  seized  so  easily, 
and  understood  so  well,  as  in  the  familiar  letters  of  each  epoch. 
How  stiff,  stupid,  and  dead  is  the  most  elaborate  description 
of  dress,  manners,  and  etiquette,  presented  in  the  pictures 


IV  PREFACE   TO   THE   REVISED   EDITION. 

drawn  by  general  authors  and  astute  diplomatists,  compared 
with  the  real  talk,  the  frank  opinions,  the  ill-natured  gossip, 
the  spontaneous  admiration,  that  enlighten  as  well  as  amuse 
us  in  contemporary  correspondence. 

The  name  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  is  familiar  to 
our  people,  yet  her  celebrated  "  Letters  "  have .  never  been 
made  easily  accessible,  and  therefore  are  little  known.  In 
preparing  this  volume  for  popular  use,  great  care  has  been 
taken  to  preserve  the  unity  of  each  division  of  the  "  Letters," 
so  that  the  history  of  the  writer  might  be  elucidated,  as  well  as 
the  sketches  of  events  she  records  be  understood  in  their  true 
connection.  The  complete  edition  of  her  works,  edited  by  her 
great-grandson,  Lord  Wharncliffe,  has  been  followed  as  the  best 
authority.  The  work  can  scarcely  fail  of  interesting  deeply 
the  American  reader.  Lady  Mary  lived  and  wrote  in  the 
first  half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  when  our  land  was  a  com- 
ponent portion  of  the  British  Empire,  consequently  her  genius 
and  her  fame  are  ours  by  inheritance.  Her  letters  will  be 
found  valuable  as  well  as  amusing,  aiding  the  students  of  his- 
tory to  catch  the  manners  and  opinions  of  English  society  in 
high  life  —  then  the  dominant  power  of  the  realm  —  at  the 
time  Benjamin  Franklin  and  his  co-patriots  in  this  Western 
World  were  working  out  the  problem  of  American  independ- 
ence and  popular  sovereignty. 

The  contrast  in  the  condition  of  the  two  countries  then  and 
now  is  curious  and  instructive ;  so,  also,  is  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  description  of  Constantinople,  as  it  then  appeared 
to  Lady  Mary,  and  its  present  state. 

An  article  in  a  late  number  of  "  Blackwood's  Magazine  " 
thus  describes  her  visit :  — 

"Change,  adventure,  movement,  new  things  to  see  and  hear 
and  find  out — .every  thing  her  brilliant  and  curious  intelligence 
required  —  were  thus  supplied  to  her ;  and  there  never  had  been 
so  clear  a  picture  of  the  mysterious  East  as  that  which  the  gay 


PREFACE   TO   THE   REVISED   EDITION.  V 

young  English  Ambassadress  sent  thereafter  in  long  letters, 
sparkling  with  wit  and  observation  and  real  insight,  to  all  her  Eng- 
lish friends.  .  .  .  She  is  even  so  good-natured  as  to  deseribe  a 
camel  for  some  good  rural  gentlewoman.  Altogether,  there  never 
was  a  more  spontaneous,  sprightly,  and  picturesque  narrative  of 
travel  than  this  which  the  light-hearted  young  woman  with  bright 
English  eyes,  which  noted  every  thing  under  her  flowing  Eastern 
veil,  despatched  to  the  little  knot  of  men  and  women  at  home." 

But  Lady  Mary  showed  evenjiigher  qualities  than  wit 
and  observation.  The  practice  of  inoculation  for  small-pox 
was  universal  in  Turkey.  She  examined  it,  perceived  its 
utility,  tested  it  upon  her  little  son,  and  came  back  to  Eng- 
land resolved  to  introduce  it.  For  five  years  she  struggled 
against  the  doctors  and  the  conservatives,  and  at  length  forced 
its  beneficent  character  upon  the  unwilling  Faculty. 

Near  the  close  of  her  life  we  find  her  quiet  heroism  espe- 
cially admirable.  "  She  sets  fo:  th  in  her  letters  all  her  sur- 
roundings, all  her  occupations,  not  by  way  of  amusing  her 
correspondent  alone,  but  by  way  of  showing  that  her  own 
life  is  yet  worth  living,  and  her  individuality  unimpaired. 
In  her  Italian  villa,  queen  of  the  alien  hamlet,  legislator  for  her 
neighbor  cottages,  the  English  lady  took  her  forlorn  yet  indi- 
vidual place ;  filling  her  days  with  a  thousand  occupations  ; 
dazzling  the  strange  little  world  about  her  with  brilliant  talk  ; 
seeking  forgetfulness  in  books ;  living  and  growing  old  in  her 
own  way  with  a  certain  proud  reasonableness  and  philosophy ; 
deluding  herself  with  no  dreams,  forbidding  her  heart  to  brood 
over  the  past,  and  making  a  heroic  and  partially  successful 
attempt  to  be  sufficient  to  herself.  We  follow  her  brave 
spirit  through  the  haze  of  years  with  a  certain  wondering 
sympathy,  a  surprised  respectA  <  Keep  my  letters/  said 
Lady  Mary,  in  the  heyday  of-1ier  life ;  '  they  will  be  as  good 
as  Madame  de  Sevigne's  forty  years  hence/  " 


VI  PREFACE   TO    THE   REVISED   EDITION. 

All  this  long  and  eventful  life  is  mirrored  in  her  letters. 
They  are  vivid,  animated,  sparkling  with  caustic  and  kindly 
observations.  Like  Madame  de  Sevigne's,  they  are  eminently 
fit  to  form  the  style  of  youth ;  and  no  better  adjuncts  to  the 
school  composition  could  be  had  than  the  careful  reading  of 
these  interesting  volumes. 

In  the  original  Preface,  written  by  "  Mistress  Mary  Astell, 
of  learned  memory,  the  Madonilla  of  the  *  Tatler,' "  are  these 
sentiments,  which  American  ladies  may  well  approve  and 
adopt :  "  Let  her  own  sex  do  justice  to  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu.  Let  us  freely  own  the  superiority  of  her  genius, 
pleased  that  a  Woman  triumphs ;  that  the  Giver  of  all  good 
gifts  intrusted  and  adorned  her  with  most  excellent  talents." 

SARAH  JOSEPHA  HALE. 
Philadelphia,  Nov.  26,  1868. 


MEMOIR 


LADY    MARY    WORTLEY    MONTAGU 


Lady  Mary  Pierrepont  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Evely* 
Duke  of  Kingston  and  the  Lady  Mary  Fielding,  daughter  of 
William  Earl  of  Denbigh.  "We  shall  say  no  more  upon  her  ped- 
igree, except  to  note  that  she  was,  by  the  mother's  side,  cousin 
of  Henry  Fielding,  the  novelist.  The  kindred  of  genius  is  an  in- 
teresting point  of  genealogy  to  all  who  study  human  nature  in- 
stead of  the  peerage.  The  novelist  is  now  the  most  celebrated 
of  her  kindred.  She  was  born  at  Thoresby,  about  the  year  1690, 
and  lost  her  mother  in  1694,  when  Lady  Mary  and  her  two 
sisters  had  scarcely  passed  the  years  of  infancy.  Their  father,  a 
dissipated,  selfish,  worldly  man,  appears  to  have  concerned  him- 
self very  little  with  their  training,  though  one  of  her  biographers* 
asserts  that  Lady  Mary  displayed  in  her  childhood  such  tokens 
of  genius  that  she  was  placed  under  the  same  preceptors  as  her 
only  brother,  the  Viscount  Newark,  and  that  "she  acquired  the 
elements  of  the  Greek,  Latin,  and  French  Languages  with  the 
greatest  success."  He  goes  on  to  say  that  "  when  she  had  made 
a  singular  proficiency,  her  studies  were  superintended  by  Bishop 
Burnet,  who  fostered  her  superior  talents  with  every  expression 
of  dignified  praise." 

Lord  WharnclifFe  seems  to  doubt  this  statement;  he  thinks 
her  improvement  was  mainly  owing  to  her  own  indomitable 
eagerness  for  knowledge.  However  this  may  be,  the  following 
anecdotef  shows  that  the  beauty  and  precocity  of  his  celebrated 
daughter  had  made  her  in  her  childhood  a  pet  with  the  duke, 

•  Mr.  Dillaway. 

t  From  Biographical  Anecdotes  collected  by  Lord  Wharncliffe. 


Vlll  MEMOIR     OF 

her  father;  but  his  neglect  in  her  after  years,  and  the  unkind- 
ness  and  mercenary  tyranny  he  exercised  toward  her  at  the 
time  of  her  marriage,  speak  plainly  of  the  want  of  all  real 
fatherly  interest  and  affection.  "A  sprightly,  beautiful  child, 
while  it  is  a  child,  reflects  luster  upon  a  young  father,  from 
whom  it  may  be  presumed  to  have  partly  inherited  its  charms. 
Accordingly,  a  trifling  incident,  which  Lady  Mary  loved  to  re- 
call, will  prove  how  much  she  was  the  object  of  Lord  Kingston's 
pride  and  fondness  in  her  childhood.  As  a  leader  of  the  fashion- 
able world,  and  a  strenuous  Whig  in  party,  he  of  course  belonged 
to  the  Kit-cat  Club.  One  day,  at  a  meeting  to  choose  toasts  for 
the  year,  a  whim  seized  him  to  nominate  her,  then  not  eight 
years  old,  as  a  candidate,  alleging  that  she  was  far  prettier  than 
any  lady  on  their  list.  The  other  members  demurred,  because 
the  rules  of  the  club  forbade  them  to  elect  a  beauty  whom  they 
had  never  seen.  '  Then  you  shall  see  her,'  cried  he;  and  in  the 
gayety  of  the  moment  sent  orders  to  have  her  finely  dressed, 
and  brought  to  him  at  the  tavern ;  where  she  was  received  with 
acclamations,  her  claim  unanimously  allowed,  her  health  drunk 
by  every  one  present,  and  her  name  engraved  in  due  form  upon 
a  drinking-glass.  The  company  consisting  of  some  of  the  most 
eminent  men  in  England,  she  went  from  the  lap  of  one  poet,  or 
patriot,  or  statesman,  to  the  arms  of  another,  was  feasted  with 
sweetmeats,  overwhelmed  with  caresses,  and,  what  perhaps  al- 
ready pleased  her  better  than  either,  heard  her  wit  loudly  ex- 
tolled on  every  side.  Pleasure,  she  said,  was  too  poor  a  word  to 
express  her  sensations  ;  they  amounted  to  ecstasy  :  never  again, 
throughout  her  whole  future  life,  did  she  pass  so  happy  a  day. 
Nor  indeed  could  she;  for  the  love  of  admiration,  which  this 
scene  was  calculated  to  excite  or  increase,  could  never  again  be 
so  fully  gratified  :  there  is  always  some  alloying  ingredient  in  the 
cup,  some  drawback  upon  the  triumphs  of  grown  people.  Her 
father  carried  on  the  frolic,  and,  we  may  conclude,  confirmed  the 
taste,  by  having  her  picture  painted  for  the  club-room,  that  she 
might  be  enrolled  a  regular  toast." 

Like  all  persons  of  genius  whose  writings  are  worth  any  thing, 
Lady  Mary  was  a  great  reader,  and  had  a  wonderfully  retentive 
memory.  She  complains  that  her  education  was  "  one  of  the 
worst  in  the  world ;"  but  we  find  that  her  own  efforts  and  zeal 
for  improvement  made  up  for  deficiencies  in  instruction.     Her 


LADY     MARY     WOJRTLEY    MONTAGU.  IX 

letter  to  Bishop  Burnet  (see  page  402)  shows  what  obstacles  sho 
had  to  encounter  in  that  age,  when  learning  was  considered  al- 
most as  disgraceful  for  an  English  lady  as  the  use  of  full-grown 
feet  would  now  be  to  a  Chinese  beauty. 

In  one  kind  of  lady-like  accomplishment,  that  of  presiding  at 
the  dinner-table,  she  was  early  and  thoroughly  instructed.  As 
her  mother  died  when  she  was  only  four  years  old,  and  her 
father  continued  a  widower  till  all  his  children  were  grown  up 
and  married,  Lady  Mary,  as  eldest  daughter,  was  placed  at  the 
head  of  the  great  household-establishment,  when  she  was  a 
mere  child — as  soon  as  she  had  bodily  strength  for  the  office, 
which,  in  those  days,  required  no  small  share.* 

Thus  passed  the  early  youth  of  Lady  Mary,  her  time  being 
principally  spent  at  Thoresby  and  at  Acton  near  London  ;  and 
her  society  confined  to  a  few  friends,  among  whom  the  most  con- 
fidential was  Mrs.  (or  Miss)  Anne  Wortley,  the  favorite  sister  of 
the  Honorable  Edward  Wortley  Montagu.f  He  was  a  scholar, 
and  had  traveled ;  his  companions  were  Steele,  Garth,  Oongreve, 
Mainwaring,  etc. ;  and  Addison  was  his  bosom  friend.  Such  a 
man,  if  not  possessed  of  brilliant  genius,  must  have  admired  it ; 
and  that  he  had  a  clear  understanding  and  great  integrity  of 
character,  his  own  letters  and  the  respect  Lady  Mary  always 
testifies  for  his  abilities,  clearly  show. 

Her  intimacy  with  his  sister  was  the  means  of  first  bringing 
them  together.  We  give  the  scene  as  described  by  Lord  Wharn- 
cliffe: 

"  Mr.  Wortley's  chief  intimates  have  been  already  named.   His 

*  At  the  table  each  joint  was  carried  up  in  its  turn,  to  be  operated  upon  by  her, 
and  her  alone — since  the  peers  and  knights  on  either  hand  were  so  far  from  being 
bound  to  offer  their  assistance,  that  the  very  master  of  the  house,  posted  opposite 
to  her,  might  not  act  as  her  croupier;  his  department  wa9  to  push  the  bottle 
after  dinner.  As  for  the  crowd  of  guests,  the  most  inconsiderable  among  them — the 
curate,  or  subaltern,  or  squire's  younger  brother — if  suffered  through  her  neglect  to 
help  himself  to  a  slice  of  the  mutton  placed  before  him,  would  have  chewed  it  in 
bitterness,  and  gone  home  an  affronted  man,  half  inclined  to  give  a  wrong  vote  at 
the  next  election.  There  were  then  professed  carving-masters,  who  taught  young 
ladies  the  art  scientifically ;  from  one  of  whom  Lady  Mary  said  she  took  lessons 
three  times  a  week,  that  she  might  be  perfect  on  her  father's  public  days ;  when, 
in  order  to  perform  her  functions  without  interruption,  she  was  forced  to  eat  her 
own  dinner  alone  an  hour  or  two  beforehand. — Wharncxtffe. 

t  His  father  was  second  son  of  Admiral  Montagu,  first  Earl  of  Sandwich.  Upon 
marrying  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  Sir  Francis  Wortley,  he  was  obliged  by  tho 
tenor  of  Sir  Francis's  will  to  assume  his  name. 

1* 


X  MEMOIR    OF 

society  was  principally  male ;  the  wits  and  politicians  of  that 
day  forming  a  class  quite  distinct  from  the  "white-gloved  beau" 
attendant  upon  ladies.  Indeed,  as  the  education  of  women  had 
then  reached  its  very  lowest  ebb,  and  if  not  coquettes,  or  gossips, 
or  diligent  card-players,  their  best  praise  was  to  be  notable 
housewives,  Mr.  Wortley,  however  fond  of  his  sister,  could  have 
no  particular  motive  to  seek  the  acquaintance  of  her  companions. 
His  surprise  and  delight  were  the  greater,  when  one  afternoon, 
having  by  chance  loitered  in  her  apartment  till  visitors  arrived, 
he  saw  Lady  Mary  Pierrepont  for  the  first  time,  and,  on  entering 
into  conversation  with  her,  found,  in  addition  to  beauty  that 
charmed  him,  not  only  brilliant  wit,  but  a  thinking  and  culti- 
vated mind.  He  was  especially  struck  with  the  discovery  that  she 
understood  Latin,  and  could  relish  his  beloved  classics.  Some- 
thing that  passed  led  to  the  mention  of  Quintus  Curtius,  which 
she  said  she  had  never  read.  This  was  a  fair  handle  for  a  piece 
of  gallantry;  in  a  few  days  she  received  a  superb  edition  of  the 
author,  with  these  lines  facing  the  title-page  : 

Beauty  like  this  had  vanquished  Persia  shown, 
The  Macedon  had  laid  his  empire  down, 
And  polished  Greece  obeyed  a  barbarous  throne. 
Had  wit  so  bright  adorned  a  Grecian  dame, 
''The  amorous  youth  had  lost  his  thirst  for  fame, 
Nor  distant  India  sought  through  Syria's  plain ; 
But  to  the  Muses1  stream  with  her  had  run, 
And  thought  her  lover  more  than  Amnion's  son." 

Lady  Mary  and  Anne  Wortley  were  then  writing  to  each  other 
in  young  lady  fashion,  though  both  writers  evinced  talents  of  no 
common  order.  Edward  Wortley  seems  to  have  found  a  chan- 
nel for  his  admiration  of  his  sister's  friend  through  the  letters  to 
Lady  Mary,  till  the  death  of  Anne  Wortley,  which  occurred  soon 
after,  left  the  correspondence  to  be  continued  by  the  lovers — as 
they  then  were.  Mr.  Wortley,  after  his  acceptance  by  Lady 
Mary,  made  his  proposals  to  the  Duke  of  Kingston  in  form,  and 
was  cordially  approved  till  the  marriage  settlements  carne  under 
consideration.  Mr.  Wortley  had  a  large  landed  estate,  but  he 
was,  on  principle,  opposed  to  the  practice  of  entail.  He  offered 
to  make  the  best  provision  in  his  power  for  Lady  Mary,  but 
positively  refused  to  settle  his  landed  property  upon  his  first-born 


LADY     MART    WORTLEY    MONTAGU.  XI 

son,  who,  for  aught  he  knew,  might  prove  unworthy  to  possess 
it — might  be  a  spendthrift  (as  his  son  afterward  proved),  an  idiot, 
or  a  villain. 

The  Duke  of  Kingston  allowed  that  these  theories  might  be 
fine,  but  declared  that  Ms  grandchildren  should  never  be  left 
beggars ;  and  so  the  treaty  of  marriage  was  broken  off. 

The  secret  correspondence  and  meetings  between  the  lovers 
went  on,  however ;  but  shortly  afterward  Lady  Mary  received 
offers  from  another  suitor,  whom  her  father  commanded  her 
peremptorily  to  accept ;  if  she  did  not  comply,  she  was  to  be 
immediately  sent  to  a  remote  place  in  the  country,  there  to  re- 
side during  his  life,  and  at  his  death  have  no  portion  save  a  small 
annuity.  Then  it  was  that  she  consented  to  a  clandestine  mar- 
riage with  the  man  she  truly  loved.  Her  letters  written  during 
their  courtship  are  given  in  this  volume,  but  one  of  Lady  Mary's, 
the  last  she  wrote  before  her  marriage,  is  so  fraught  with  in- 
terest in  its  display  of  the  writer's  character  and  feelings  in  the 
most  important  action  of  her  life,  that  we  reserved  it  to  eluci- 
date more  clearly  her  nobleness  of  mind,  as  shown  in  her  sincer- 
ity and  her  devoted,  yet  self-denying  love. 

"TO  E.  W.  MONTAGU,  ESQ. 

"Sunday  Morning. 

"  I  wrote  you  a  letter  last  night  in  some  passion.  I  begin  to  fear 
again ;  I  own  myself  a  coward.  You  made  no  reply  to  one  part 
of  my  letter  concerning  my  fortune.  I  am  afraid  you  flatter 
yourself  that  my  father  may  be  at  length  reconciled  and  brought 
to  reasonable  terms.  I  am  convinced,  by  what  I  have  often 
heard  him  say,  speaking  of  other  cases  like  this,  that  he  never 
will.  Eeflect  now  for  the  last  time  in  what  manner  you  must 
take  me.  I  shall  come  to  you  with  only  a  nightgown  and  petti- 
coat, and  that  is  all  you  will  ever  get  by  me.  I  told  a  lady  of 
my  friends  what  I  intended  to  do.  You  will  think  her  a  very 
good  friend  when  I  tell  you,  she  proffered  to  lend  us  her  house. 
I  did  not  accept  of  this  till  I  had  let  you  know  it.  If  you  think 
it  more  convenient  to  carry  me  to  your  lodgings,  make  no  scruple 
of  it.  Let  it  be  where  it  will :  if  I  am  your  wife,  I  shall  think 
no  place  unfit  for  me  where  you  are.  I  beg  we  may  leave  Lon- 
don next  morning,  wherever  you  intend  to  go.  I  should  wish 
to  go  out  of  England  if  it  suits  your  affairs.     You  are  the  best 


Xll  MEMOIR    OF 

judge  of  your  father's  temper.  If  you  think  it  woukl  be  obliging 
to  him,  or  necessary  for  you,  I  will  go  with  you  immediately  to 
ask  his  pardon  and  his  blessing.  If  that  is  not  proper  at  first,  I 
think  the  best  scheme  is  going  to  the  Spa.  When  you  come 
back,  you  may  endeavor  to  make  your  father  admit  of  seeing 
me,  and  treat  with  mine  (though  I  persist  in  believing  it  will  he 
to  no  purpose).  But  I  can  not  think  of  living  in  the  midst  of  my 
relations  and  acquaintances  after  so  unjustifiable  a  step : — so  un- 
justifiable to  the  world — but  I  think  I  can  justify  myself  to  my- 
self. I  again  beg  you  to  have  a  coach  to  be  at  the  door  early 
Monday  morning,  to  carry  us  some  part  of  our  way,  wherever 
you  resolve  our  journey  shall  be.  If  you  determine  to  go  to  the 
lady's  house,  you  had  best  come  with  a  coach  and  six  at  seven 
o'clock  to-morrow.  She  and  I  will  be  in  the  balcony  which 
looks  on  the  road  ;  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  stop  under  it, 
and  we  will  come  down  to  you.  Do  in  this  what  you  like ;  but 
after  all  think  very  seriously.  Your  letter,  which  will  be  waited 
for,  is  to  determine  every  thing. 

"  You  can  show  me  no  goodness  I  shall  not  be  sensible  of. 
However,  think  again,  and  resolve  never  to  think  of  me  if  you 
have  the  least  doubt,  or  that  it  is  likely  to  make  you  uneasy  in 
your  fortune.  I  believe,  to  travel  is  the  most  likely  way  to  make 
a  solitude  agreeable,  and  not  tiresome :  remember  you  have  prom- 
ised it. 

"  'Tis  something  odd  for  a  woman  that  brings  nothing  to  ex  • 
pect  any  thing ;  but  after  the  way  of  my  education,  I  dare  not 
pretend  to  live  but  in  some  degree  suitable  to  it.  I  had  rather 
die  than  return  to  a  dependency  upon  relations  I  have  disobliged. 
Save  me  from  that  fear  if  you  love  me.  If  you  can  not,  or  think 
I  ought  not  to  expect  it,  be  sincere  and  tell  me  so.  'Tis  better 
I  should  not  be  yours  at  all  than,  for  a  short  happiness,  involve 
myself  in  ages  of  misery.  I  hope  there  will  never  be  occasion 
for  this  precaution ;  but,  however,  'tis  necessary  to  make  it.  I 
depend  entirely  upon  your  honor,  and  I  can  not  suspect  you  of 
any  way  doing  wrong.  Do  not  imagine  I  shall  be  angry  at  any 
thing  you  can  tell  me.  Let  it  be  sincere ;  do  not  impose  on  a 
woman  that  leaves  all  things  for  you." 

The  result  is  well  known.  The  lovers  were  privately  married, 
by  special  license,  which  bears  date,  August  12th,  1712.     Their 


LADY    MART     WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  Xlll 

residence  was  in  the  country  for  about  two  years,  till  the  death 
of  Queen  Anne,  in  1714,  and  the  accession  of  George  I.,  brought 
a  change  in  the  administration,  and  gave  Mr.  Montagu  a  place 
at  court.  Lady  Mary's  first  appearance  at  St.  James's  was  a 
triumph  for  her.;  her  beauty  and  wit,  the  elegance  of  her  form 
and  the  charms  of  her  conversation  were  unrivaled  in  the  first 
private  circles  of  the  nobility.  She  had  a  familiar  acquaintance 
both  with  Addison  and  with  his  rival,  Pope,  who  then  contem- 
plated her  uncommon  genius  without  envy.  His  enthusiastic 
admiration  of  her  is  sufficiently  apparent  in  his  letters  which 
will  be  found  in  this  volume.  That  he  became  her  vindictive 
enemy  in  after  years  was  his  fault,  not  hers. 

In  1716,  the  Honorable  Edward  Wortley  Montagu  was  ap- 
pointed embassador  to  the  Porte,  and,  with  his  accomplished 
wife  and  infant  son,  prepared  for  his  journey  to  the  East.  This 
was,  for  Lady  Mary,  a  perilous  task,  as  traveling  in  those  days 
was  dangerous  as  well  as  most  fatiguing,  and  seldom  attempted 
by  women ;  but  she  would  not  be  separated  from  her  husband. 
u  When  she  arrived  at  Constantinople  her  active  mind  was 
readily  engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  objects  so  novel  as  those  which 
the  Turkish  capital  presented.  While  they  excited  her  imagina- 
tion, she  could  satisfy  her  curiosity,  in  her  ideas  of  its  former 
splendor  as  the  metropolis  of  the  Eoman  empire.  Her  classical 
acquirements  rendered  such  investigations  interesting  and  suc- 
cessful. Among  her  other  talents  was  an  extraordinary  facility 
in  learning  languages;  and  in  the  assemblage  of  ten  embassies 
from  different  countries,  of  which  the  society  at  Pera  and  Bel- 
grade was  composed,  she  had  daily  opportunities  of  extending 
her  knowledge  and  practice  of  them.  The  French  and  Italian 
were  familiar  to  her  before  she  left  England ;  and  we  find  in  her 
letters  that  she  had  a  sufficient  acquaintance  with  the  German 
to  understand  a  comedy,  as  it  was  represented  at  Vienna.  She 
even  attempted  the  Turkish  language,  under  the  tuition  of  one 
of  Mr.  Wortley's  dragomans,  or  interpreters,  who  compiled  for 
her  use  a  grammar  and  vocabulary  in  Turkish  and  Italian.  Of 
her  proficiency  in  that  very  difficult  dialect  of  the  Oriental 
tongues,  specimens  are  seen  in  her  letters,  in  which  a  translation 
of  some  popular  poetry  appears."  Thus  testifies  her  English 
biographer;  but  more  important  to  the  world  are  the  results  of 
her  foreign  residence,  as  it  developed  her  genius  and  widened 


XIV  MEMOIR    OF 

the  sphere  of  her  observance.  Her  correspondence,  while  abroad, 
has  gained  her  such  wide-spread  celebrity  as  places  her  among 
the  first  of  female  writers  in  the  English  language.  But  a  still 
higher  praise  is  hers — that  of  benefactor  to  humanity,  for  to  her 
brave,  unprejudiced  mind,  the  Christian  world  owes  the  intro- 
duction of  inoculation  for  the  small-pox.  While  residing  at 
Belgrade,  during  the  summer  months,  Lady  Mary  observed  a 
singular  custom  prevalent  among  the  Turks — that  of  engrafting, 
as  they  styled  it,  to  produce  a  mild  form  of  small-pox  and  stay 
the  ravages  of  that  loathsome  disease.  She  examined  the  pro- 
cess with  more  than  philosophical  curiosity — with  deep  earnest- 
ness to  learn  if  it  was  good ;  she  had  lost  her  only  brother  by 
the  small-pox,  and  her  own  life  had  been  scarcely  saved ;  she 
knew  how  terrible  was  the  disease,  and  sought  to  save  her 
country  from  the  scourge.  Becoming  convinced  of  its  efficacy, 
she  did  not  hesitate  to  apply  it  to  her  own  son,  a  child  of 
three  years  old.  On  her  return  home,  she  introduced  the 
art  into  England,  by  means  of  the  medical  attendant  of  the 
embassy.  Its  expediency  was  questioned  by  scientific  men,  and 
an  experiment,  by  order  of  government,  was  made  upon  five  per- 
sons under  sentence  of  death,  which  was  perfectly  successful. 

At  that  time  it  was  computed  that  one  person  in  every  seven 
died  of  the  small-pox  taken  in  the  natural  way,  and  many  who 
lived  were  terribly  disfigured.  It  might  have  been  supposed 
that  such  an  amelioration  as  this  way  of  engrafting  offered  would 
have  been  received  with  joy,  and  that  Lady  Mary  would  have 
been  acknowledged  as  a  public  benefactor.  So  far  from  this  was 
the  result,  that  she  was  persecuted  with  the  most  relentless  hos- 
tility. The  clamors  raised  about  her  were  beyond  belief  at  this 
day.  The  faculty  rose  to  a  man  against  her;  the  clergy  des- 
canted from  their  pulpits  on  the  awful  impiety  of  seeking  to  take 
events  out  of  the  hands  of  Providence.  The  common  people 
were  taught  to  hoot  at  her  as  an  unnatural  mother  who  had 
risked  the  lives  of  her  own  children.  So  fierce  was  the  clamor 
that,  with  all  her  bravery  in  the  cause  of  truth  and  humanity, 
she  admitted  "  that  if  she  had  foreseen  the  persecution  and  oblo- 
quy she  was  to  endure,  she  would  not  have  attempted  to  intro- 
duce inoculation." 

However,  she  soon  gained  supporters.  The  Princess  of  Wales, 
afterward  Queen  Caroline,  stood  her  friend,  and  truth  and  reason 


LADY    MARY    WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  XV 

finally  prevailed.*  She  gave  much  of  her  time  to  advice  and 
superintendence  in  the  families  where  inoculation  was  adopted, 
constantly  carrying  her  little  daughter  with  her  into  the  sick 
room,  to  prove  her  security  from  infection. 

On  her  return  to  England,  Lady  Mary  Wortley,  at  the  solicita- 
tion of  Mr.  Pope,  took  up  her  residence  at  Twickenham.  Pope 
had  been  her  most  intimate  friend  and  admirer,  as  his  letters  to 
her  in  this  volume  will  show.  Both  of  them  witty,  sarcastic, 
fond  of  elegant  literature,  there  were  many  points  of  similarity 
of  taste  and  character  which  must  have  cemented  an  intimacy 
that  Lady  Mary  permitted,  if  she  did  not  encourage.  On  this 
intimacy  he  presumed  to  make  love  to  her,  as  she  said — such 
passionate  love  that  in  spite  of  her  utmost  endeavors  to  be 
angry,  and  look  grave,  she  was  provoked  to  an  immoderate  fit 
of  laughter ;  frojn__  which  moment  he  became  her  implacable 
enemy.  His  conduct  toward  her  was  as  mean  as  his  hatred 
was  malicious.  He  libeled  her  almost  by  name  in  his  poems, 
and  then  denied  in  his  letters  that  his  satire  was  intended  for 
her.  The  affair  has  injured  both,  and  must  be  reckoned  among 
the  most  unhappy  "  quarrels  and  calamities  of  authors." 

While  residing  in  England,  Lady  Mary  carried  on  her  corres- 

*  In  the  "  Plain-Dealer,"  then  edited  by  Steele,  appeared,  in  1724,  the  following 
paper : 

"  It  is  an  observation  of  some  historian  that  England  has  owed  to  women  the 
greatest  blessings  she  has  been  distinguished  by.  In  the  case  we  are  now  upon, 
this  reflection  will  stand  justified.  We  are  indebted  to  the  reason  and  the  courage 
of  a  lady  for  the  introduction  of  this  art,  which  gains  such  strength  in  its  progress 
that  the  memory  of  its  illustrious  foundress  will  be  rendered  sacred  to  it  to  future 
ages.  This  ornament  to  her  sex  and  country,  who  ennobles  her  own  nobility  by 
her  learning,  wit,  and  virtues,  accompanying  her  consort  into  Turkey,  observed 
the  benefit  of  this  practice,  with  its  frequency  even  among  those  obstinate  predes- 
tinarians,  and  brought  it  over  for  the  service  and  the  safety  of  her  native  England, 
where  she  consecrated  its  first  effects  on  the  persons  of  her  own  fine  children ;  and 
has  already  received  this  glory  from  it,  that  the  influence  of  her  example  has  reached 
as  high  as  the  blood  royal,  and  our  noblest  and  most  ancient  families,  in  confirma- 
tion of  her  happy  judgment,  add  the  daily  experience  of  those  who  are  most  dear 
to  them.  It  is  a  godlike  delight  that  her  reflection  must  be  conscious  of,  when  she 
considers  to  whom  we  owe,  that  many  thousand  British  lives  will  be  saved  every 
year  to  the  use  and  comfort  of  their  country,  after  a  general  establishment  of  this 
practice.  A  good,  so  lasting  and  so  vast,  that  none  of  those  wide  endowments  and 
deep  foundations  of  public  charity  which  have  made  most  noise  in  the  world  de» 
eerve  at  all  to  be  compared  with  it. 

"  High  o'er  each  sex  in  double  empire  sit 
Protecting  beauty  and  inspiring  wit." 


XVI  MEMOIR    OF 

pondence  with  her  sister  Lady  Mar,  and  superintended  the  edu- 
cation of  her  only  daughter,  who  married  the  Marquis  of  Bute. 
Soon  after  this  event  Lady  Mary,  whose  health  was  suffering 
from  the  incipient  but  fatal  disease  (cancer),  which  terminated 
her  life,  went  to  Italy.  Her  husband  approved  of  her  plan,  and, 
it  seems  from  her  letters,  engaged  to  join  her;  but  parliamentary 
business  and  other  duties  detained  him  in  England ;  they  cor- 
responded constantly  and  kindly ;  but  they  never  met  again. 

The  letters  of  Lady  Mary  to  her  beloved  daughter,  Lady  Bute, 
(in  this  volume)  give  a  graphic  description  of  her  travels,  and 
living  pictures,  as  it  were,  of  the  scenes  and  persons  she  met 
and  observed.  They  show  also  her  tender  care  for  her  daugh- 
ter, and  that  the  ties  of  domestic  life-  were  the  sweetest  to  her 
heart.  And  she  sincerely  enjoyed  her  repose  from  the  entangle- 
ments of  the  gay  world  of  fashionable  life.  She  was  residing 
in  Venice  when  intelligence  of  the  death  of  Mr.  Wortjey,  her 
husband,  reached  her  in  1761.  Her  daughter  urged  her  return 
home  so  earnestly  that  Lady  Mary  yielded ;  and  after  an  absence 
of  twenty- two  years,  she  began  her  journey  to  England,  where 
she  arrived  in  October.  But  her  health  had  suffered  much,  and 
a  gradual  decline  terminated  in  death,  on  the  21st  of  August, 
1762,  and  in  the  seventy-third  year  of  her  age. 

Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  ranks  in  the  first  class  of  learned 
women.  Of  this  learning,  with  the  true  simplicity  character- 
istic of  sensible  people,  she  herself  makes  small  account;  but 
her  familiarity  with  classic  authors  is  evident  in  her  letters  to 
Pope  and  other  learned  men.  Her  acquaintance  with  general 
literature  was  extensive.  These  acquirements,  however,  may 
now  be  often  met  with  among  her  sex;  but  the  fertility  of  her 
genius,  the  flashing  of  her  wit,  and  her  solid  good  sense,  seldom 
found  united  in  the  same  mind,  place  her  among  the  greatest  writ- 
ers of  her  day.  Her  style  and  her  thoughts  are  alike  free  from  af- 
fectation or  pretension.  She  loved  truth  and  hated  shams ;  this 
sincerity  of  character  and  her  brilliant  talents  made  her  many 
envious  and  bitter  enemies.     Her  English  biographer  says: 

"During  her  long  life,  her  literary  pretensions  were  suppressed 
by  the  jealousy  of  her  cotemporaries,  and  her  indignant  sense  of 
the  mean  conduct  of  Pope  and  his  phalanx,  the  self-constituted 
distributers  of  the  fame  and  obloquy  of  that  day,  urged  her  to 
confine  to  her  cabinet,  and  a  small  circle  of  friends,  effusions  of 


LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU.      XVU 

■wisdom  and  fancy,  which  otherwise  had  been  received  by  soci- 
ety at  large  with  equal  instruction  and  delight." 

But  the  acknowledgment, of  her  merits,  if  long  delayed,  has 
been  fully  made.  (JRer  Letters,  published  in  many  editions,  have 
been  conceded  to  be  the  most  perfect  productions  of  their  kind 
to  be  found  in  our  tongue.  An  eminent  British  critic  says: 
"  They  are  truly  letters,  not  critical  or  didactic  essays,  enlivened 
by  formal  compliment  and  elaborate  wit,  like  the  correspondence 
of  Pope." 

Still  there  was  one  sad  defect  in  the  writings  of  this  celebrated 
lady,  which  is  now  far  more  apparent  than  when  she  lived, 
Lamely,  her  lack  of  religious  feeling.  True,  her  lot  was  cast  in 
an  age  of  practical  unbelief,  when  the  English  Church  was  like 
that  of  Sardis  of  old,  and  rank  had  the  privilege  of  low  sensu- 
ality and  sin,  and  public  morality  was  derided  as  foolishness. 
Gross  darkness  was  around  her  path.  It  is  not  much  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  she  did  not  seek  the  true  light,  but  it  is  to  be  deeply 
regretted  that  a  mind  like  hers  should  have  been  bound  to  earth, 
when  it  had  such  clear  conceptions  of  the  emptiness  of  worldly 
pleasures.  Piety  of  heart  would  have  imparted  tenderness  to 
her  character,  and  that  sweet  pity  for  the  faults  of  others  which 
would  have  polished  her  style  and  given  a  lovelier  light  to  the 
diamond  sparkle  of  her  wit. 

The  poems  of  Lady  Mary  were  written  as  suggested  by  par- 
ticular occasions,  and  she  never  took  any  pains  to  correct  or  polish 
her  verses.  But  she  had  true  poetic  talent,  and  if  the  same  incite- 
ments could  have  been  brought  to  bear  on  her  mind  as  those  that 
influenced  Pope  in  his  pursuit  of  excellence  in  versification,  she 
would  probably  have  borne  away  the  palm  of  genius.  However, 
she  won  a  higher  palm  than  that  of  a  poet — she  was  the  benef.ictor 
of  her  nation.  Had  Lady  Mary  Wortley  lived  in  the  days  of  heathen 
Greece  or  Rome,  such  service  as  she  performed  in  the  introduc- 
tion of  inoculation,  would  have  enrolled  her  name  among  the 
deities  who  have  benefited  mankind.  But  in  Christian  England, 
her  native  land,  on  which  she  bestowed  such  a  vital  blessing, 
and  through  it.  to  all  the  people  of  the  West,  what  has  been  her 
recompense  ?  We  read  of  princely  endowments  bestowed  by  the 
British  government  upon  great  generals ;  of  titles  conferred  and 
pensions  granted,  through  several  generations,  to  those  who  have 
served  their  country;    of  monuments  erected  by  the  British 


XV111  MEMOIR     OF     LADY    MONTAGU. 

people  to  statesmen  and  warriors,  and  even  to  weak  and  worth- 
less princes ;  but  where  is  the  national  monument  to  Lady  Mary 
Wortley  Montagu ?  Is  it  in  Westminster  Abbey?  Or  has  it 
been  only  by  the  private  bounty  of  a  woman  that  her  good 
deed  has  a  record  ?*  On  the  pages  of  history,  and  in  the  an- 
nals of  medicine,  the  name  of  Lady  Montagu  must  find  its  place ; 
but  should  not  England  be  proud  to  honor  her  noble  daughter, 
whose  memory,  from  royal  palace  to  pauper's  hut,  ought  to  be 
held  in  grateful  affection  ? 

S.  J.  H. 

*  In  the  cathedral  at  Litchfield,  a  cenotaph  is  erected  to  her  memory,  with  the 
following  inscription : 

Sacred  to  the  memory  of 

The  Eight  Honorable 

Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu-, 

who  happily  introduced  from  Turkey, 

into  this  country, 

the  salutary  art 

of  inoculating  the  small-pox. 

Convinced  of  its  efficacy, 

she  first  tried  it  with  success 

on  her  own  children, 

and  then  recommended  the  practice  of  It 

to  her  fellow-citizens. 

Thus  by  her  example  and  advice 

we  have  softened  the  virulence, 

and  escaped  the  danger  of  this  malignant  disease. 

To  perpetuate  the  memory  of  such  benevolence, 

and  express  her  gratitude 

for  the  benefit  she  herself  received 

from  this  alleviating  art ; 

this  monument  is  erected  by 

Henrietta  Inge, 

relict  of  Theodore  William  Inge,  Esq., 

and  daughter  of  Sir  John  Wrottesley,  Bart., 

in  the  year  of  our  Lord  m,dcc,lxxxix. 

The  monument  consists  of  a  mural  marble,  representing  a  female  figure  o» 
beauty,  weeping  over  the  ashes  of  her  preserver,  supposed  to  be  inclosed  in  tha 
nrn,  insciibed  with  her  cypher,  M.  W.  M. 


LETTEKS   OF 

LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU, 

FROM   1710   TO   1716. 
ADDRESSED  TO  EDWARD   WORTLEY   MONTAGU,  ESQ. 

(WRITTEN  DUEING  THEIE  OOXTBT8HIP  AND  THE  FIBST  ETVE  YEABS  OP  MABBIED  LITE.) 


LETTER  I * 

No  date. 
Perhaps  you  '11  be  surprised  at  this  letter ;  I  have  had  many 
debates  with  myself  before  I  could  resolve  upon  it.  I  know 
it  is  not  actingin form,  but  I  do  not  look  upon  you  as  I  do 
upon  the  rest  of  the  world ;  and  by  what  I  do  for  you,  you 
are  not  to  judge  of  my  manner  of  acting  with  others.  You 
are  brother  to  a  woman  I  tenderly  loved ;  my  protestations  of 
friendship  are  not  like  other  people's — I  never  speak  but  what 
I  mean,  and  when  I  say  I  love,  'tis  forever.  I  had  that  real 
concern  for*  Mrs.  Wortley,  I  look  with  some  regard  on  every 
one  that  is  related  to  her.  This  and  my  long  acquaintance 
with  you  may  in  some  measure  excuse  what  I  am  doing.  1 
am  surprised  at  one  of  the  Tatlers  you  sent  me ;  is  it  possible 

*  A  remarkable  letter,  the  first  she  ever  wrote  to  him.  There  is  a 
copy  of  it  in  his  handwriting :  it  appears  by  it  that  his  sister  was  then 
dead. 

f  Miss  or  Mrs.  Anne  "Wortley  was  the  favorite  sister  of  Edward 
"Wortley  Montagu.  She  had  been  the  friend  and  confidante  of  Lady 
Mary  Pierrepont,  and  their  correspondence  was  the  medium  through 
which  the  lovers  had  communicated  till  the  death  of  the  sister.  -Am.  Ed. 


20  LETTERS     TO 

to  have  any  sort  of  esteem  for  a  person  one  believes  capable 
of  having  such  trifling  inclinations  ?  Mr.  Bickerstaff  has  very- 
wrong  notions  of  our  sex.  I  can  say  there  are  some  of  us 
that  despise  charms  of  show,  and  all  the  pageantry  of  great- 
ness, perhaps  with  more  ease  than  any  of  the  philosophers. 
In  contemning  the  world,  they  seem  to  take  pains  to  contemn 
it ;  we  despise  it  without  taking  the  pains  to  read  lesson^  of 
morality  to  make  us  do  it.  At  least,  I  know  I  have  always 
looked  upon  it  with  contempt,  without  being  ?.t  the  expense 
of  one  serious  reflection  to  oblige  me  to  it.  I  carry  the  matter 
yet  further :  was  I  to  choose  £2,000  a  year,  or  £20,000, 
the  first  would  be  my  choice.  There  is  something  of  an 
unavoidable  embarras  in  making  what  is  called  a  great  figure 
in  the  world  ;  (it)  takes  off  from  the  happiness  of  life  ;  I  hate 
the  noise  and  hurry  inseparable  from  great  estates  and  titles, 
and  look  upon  both  as  blessings  which  ought  only  to  be  given 
to  fools,  for  'tis  only  to  them  that  they  are  blessings.  The 
pretty  fellows  you  speak  of,  I  own  entertain  me  sometimes ; 
but  is  it  impossible  to  be  diverted  with  what  one  despises  i  1 
can  laugh  at  a  puppet-show,  and  at  the  same  time  know  there 
is  nothing  in  it  worth  my  attention  or  regard.  General  no- 
tions are  generally  wrong.  Ignorance  and  folly  are  thought 
the  best  foundations  for  virtue,  as  if  not  knowing  what  a  good 
wife  is  was  necessary  to  make  one  so.  I  confess  that  can 
never  be  my  way  of  reasoning  ;  as  I  always  forgive  an  injury 
when  I  think  it  not  done  out  of  malice,  I  can  never  think  my- 
self obliged  by  what  is  done  without  design.  Give  me  leave 
to  say  it  (I  know  it  sounds  vain),  I  know  how  to  make  a  man 
of  sense  happy  ;  but  then  that  man  must  resolve  to  contribute 
something  toward  it  himself.  I  have  so  much  esteem  for  you, 
I  should  be  very  sorry  to  hear  you  were  unhappy ;  but,  for  the 
world,  I  would  not  be  the  instrument  of  making  you  so ;  which 
(of  the  humors  you  are)  is  hardly  to  be  avoided  if  I  am  your 
wife.  You  distrust  me — I  can  neither  be  easy,  nor  loved, 
where  I  am  distrusted.  Nor  do  I  believe  your  passion  for  me 
is  what  you  pretend  it ;  at  least,  I  am  sure  was  I  in  love,  I 


EDWARD     WOF         ^f      MONT      G  U.  21 

could  not  talk  as  you  do.  Few  women  would  have  wrote  so 
plain  as  I  have  done ;  but  to  dissemble  is  among  the  things  I 
never  do.  I  take  more  pains  to  approve  my  conduct  to  my- 
self than  to  the  world ;  and  would  not  have  to  accuse  myself 
of  a  minute's  deceit.  I  wish  I  loved  you  enough  to  devote 
myself  to  be  forever  miserable,  for  the  pleasure  of  a  day  or 
two's  happiness.  I  can  not  resolve  upon  it.  You  must  think 
otherwise  of  me,  or  not  at  all. 

I  don't  enjoin  you  to  burn  this  Jetter— I  know  you  will. 
Tis  the  first  I  ever  wrote  to  one  of  your  sex,  and  shall  be  the 
last.  You  may  never  expect  another.  I  resolve  against  all 
correspondence  of  the  kind  ;  my  resolutions  are  seldom  made, 
and  never  broken. 


LETTER  E. 


Reading  over  your  letter  as  fast  as  ever  I  could,  and  an- 
swering it  with  the  same  ridiculous  precipitation,  I  find  one 
part  of  it  escaped  my  sight,  and  the  other  I  mistook  in  several 
places.     Yours  was  dated  the  10th  of  August;  it  came  not 
hither  till  the  20th  :  you  say  something  of  a  packet-boat,  etc., 
which  makes  me  uncertain  whether  you  '11  receive  my  letter 
and  frets  me  heartily.     Kindness,  you  say,  would  be  your  de- 
struction.    In  my  opinion,  this  is  something  contradictory  to 
some  other  expressions.     People  talk  of  being  in  love  just  as 
widows  do  of  affliction.     Mr.  Steele  has  observed,  in  one  of  his 
plays,  "that  the  most  passionate  among  them  have  always 
calmness  enough  to  drive  a  hard  bargain  with  the  upholders." 
I  never  knew  a  lover  that  would  not  willingly  secure  his  in- 
terest as  well  as  his  mistress ;  or,  if  one  must  be  abandoned, 
had  not  the  prudence,  among  all  his  distractions,  to  consider,  ' 
that  a  woman  was  but  a  woman,  and  money  was  a  thing  of 
more  real  merit  than  the  whole  sex  put  together.     Your  letter 
is  to  tell  me,  you  should  think  yourself  undone,  if  you  married 


22  L  ETTEBS      TO 

me  ;  but  if  I  would  be  so  tender  as  to  confess  I  should  break 
my  heart  if  you  did  not,  then  you  'd  consider  whether  you 
would  or  no  ;  but  yet  you  hoped  you  should  not.  I  take  this 
to  be  the  right  interpretation  of — "  even  your  kindness  can't 
destroy  me  of  a  sudden" — "  I  hope  I  am  not  in  your  power"— r- 
"  I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  be  satisfied,"  etc. 

"  As  to  writing — that  any  woman  would  do  who  thought 
she  writ  well."  Now  I  say,  no  woman  of  common  good  sense 
would.  At  best,  'tis  but  doing  a  silly  thing  well,  and  I  think 
it  is  much  better  not  to  do  a  silly  thing  at  all.  You  compare 
it  to  dressing.  Suppose  the  comparison  just : — perhaps  the 
Spanish  dress  would  become  my  face  very  well ;  yet  the  whole 
town  would  condemn  me  for  the  highest  extravagance  if  I 
went  to  court  in  it,  though  it  improved  me  to  a  miracle.  There 
are  a  thousand  things,  not  ill  in  themselves,  which  custom 
makes  unfit  to  be  done.  This  is  to  convince  you  I  am  so  far 
from  applauding  my  own  conduct,  my  conscience  flies  in  my 
face  every  time  I  think  on  't.  The  generality  of  the  world 
have  a  great  indulgence  to  their  own  follies  :  without  being  a 
jot  wiser  than  my  neighbors,  I  have  the  peculiar  misfortune  to 
know  and  condemn  all  the  wrong  things  I  do. 

You  beg  to  know  whether  I  would  not  be  out  of  humor. 
The  expression  is  modest  enough  ;  but  that  is  not  what  you 
mean.  In  saying  I  could  be  easy,  I  have  already  said  I  should 
not  be  out  of  humor :  but  you  would  have  me  say  I  am  vio- 
lently in  love  ;  that  is,  finding  you  think  better  of  me  than 
you  desire,  you  would  have  me  give  you  a  just  cause  to  con- 
temn me.  I  doubt  much  whether  there  is  a  creature  in  the 
world  humble  enough  to  do  that.  I  should  not  think  you  more 
unreasonable  if  you  were  in  love  with  my  face,  and  asked  me 
to  disfigure  it  to  make  you  easy.  I  have  heard  of  some  nuns 
that  made  use  of  that  expedient  to  secure  their  own  happi- 
ness ;  but,  among  all  the  popish  saints  and  martyrs,  I  never 
read  of  one  whose  charity  was  sublime  enough  to  make  them- 
selves deformed,  or  ridiculous,  to  restore  their  lovers  to  peace 
and  quietness.     In  short,  if  nothing  can  content  you  but  de- 


EDWARD      WORTLET      MONTAGU.  25 

told  I  am  in  the  wrong,  but  tell  it  me  gently.  Perhaps  I  have 
been  indiscreet ;  I  came  young  into  the  hurry  of  the  world ; 
a  great  innocence  and  an  undesigning  gayety  may  possibly 
have  been  construed  coquetry  and  a  desire  of  being  followed, 
though  never  meant  by  me.  I  can  not  answer  for  the  ob- 
servations that  may  be  made  on  me  :  all  who  are  malicious 
attack  the  careless  and  defenseless :  I  own  myself  to  be  both. 
I  know  not  any  thing  I  can  say  more  to  show  my  perfect  de- 
sire of  pleasing  you  and  making  you  easy,  than  to  proffer  to 
be  confined  with  you  in  what  manner  you  please.  Would 
any  woman  but  me  renounce  all  the  world  for  one  ?  Or 
would  any  man  but  you  be  insensible  of  such  a  proof  of 
sincerity  ? 


LETTER  V. 

I  have  this  minute  received  your  two  letters.  I  know  not 
how  to  direct  to  you — whether  to  London,  or  the  country ;  or 
if  in  the  country,  to  Durham,  or  Wortley.  'Tis  very  likely 
you  '11  never  receive  this.  I  hazard  a  great  deal  if  it  falls  into 
other  hands,  and  I  wrote  for  all  that.  I  wish  with  all  my  soul 
I  thought  as  you  do  ;  I  endeavor  to  convince  myself  by  your 
arguments,  and  am  sorry  my  reason  is  so  obstinate,  not  to  be 
deluded  into  an  opinion  that  'tis  impossible  a  man  can  esteem 
a  woman.  I  suppose  I  should  then  be  very  easy  at  your 
thoughts  of  me  ;  I  should  thank  you  for  the  wit  and  beauty 
you  give  me,  and  not  be  angry  at  the  folly  and  weaknesses  ; 
but,  to  my  infinite  affliction,  I  can  believe  neither  one  nor 
t'other.  One  part  of  my  character  is  not  so  good,  nor  t'other 
so  bad,  as  you  fancy  it.  Should  we  ever  live  together,  you 
would  be  disappointed  both  ways :  you  would  find  an  easy 
equality  of  temper  you  do  not  expect,  and  a  thousand  faults 
you  do  not  imagine.  You  think,  if  you  married  me,  I  should 
r>e  passionately  fond  of  you  one  month,  and  of  somebody  else 

2 


26  LETTERS      TO 

the  next :  neither  would  happen.  I  can  esteem,  I  can  be  a 
friend,  but  I  don't  know  whether  I  can  love.  Expect  all  that 
is  complaisant  and  easy,  but  never  what  is  fond,  in  me.  You 
judge  very  wrong  of  my  heart  when  you  suppose  me  capable 
of  views  of  interest,  and  that  any  thing  could  oblige  me  to 
natter  any  body.  Was  I  the  most  indigent  creature  in  the 
world,  I  should  answer  you  as  I  do  now,  without  adding  or 
diminishing.  I  am  incapable  of  art,  and  'tis  because  I  will 
not  be  capable  of  it.  Could  I  deceive  one  minute,  I  should 
never  regain  my  own  good  opinion ;  and  who  could, bear  to  live 
with  one  they  despised  ? 

If  you  can  resolve  to  live  with  a  companion  that  will  have 
all  the  deference  due  to  your  superiority  of  good  sense,  and 
that  your  proposals  can  be  agreeable  to  those  on  whom  I  de- 
pend, I  have  nothing  to  say  against  them. 

As  to  traveling,  'tis  what  I  should  do  with  great  pleasure, 
and  could  easily  quit  London  upon  your  account ;  but  a  re- 
tirement in  the  country  is  not  so  disagreeable  to  me,  as  I 
know  a  few  months  would  make  it  tiresome  to  you.  Where 
people  are  tied  for  life,  'tis  their  mutual  interest  not  to  grow 
weary  of  one  another.  If  I  had  all  the  personal  charms  that 
I  want,  a  face  is  too  slight  a  foundation  for  huppiness.  You 
would  be  soon  tired  with  seeing  every  day  the  same  thing 
Where  you  saw  nothing  else,  you  would  have  leisure  to  re- 
mark all  the  defects ;  which  would  increase  in  proportion  as 
the  novelty  lessened,  which  is  always  a  great  charm.  I  should 
have  the  displeasure  of  seeing  a  coldness,  which,  though  I 
could  not  reasonably  blame  you  for,  being  involuntary,  yet  it 
would  render  me  uneasy ;  and  the  more,  because  I  know  a 
love  may  be  revived,  which  absence,  inconstancy,  or  even  infi- 
delity, has  extinguished ;  but  there  is  no  returning  from  a 
degout  given  by  satiety. 

I  should  not  choose  to  live  in  a  crowd :  I  could  be  very 
well  pleased  to  be  in  London,  without  making  a  great  figure, 
or  seeing  above  eight  or  nine  agreeable  people.  Apart- 
ments, table  etc.,  are  things  that  never  come  into  my  head. 


EDWARD      WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  27 

But  T  will  never  think  of  any  thing  without  the  consent  of  my 
family,  and  advise  you  not  to  fancy  a  happiness  in  entire  soli- 
tude, which  you  would  find  only  fancy. 

Make  no  answer  to  this,  if  you  can  like  me  on  my  own 
terms.  'Tis  not  to  me  you  must  make  the  proposals  :  if  not, 
to  what  purpose  is  our  correspondence  ? 

However,  preserve  me  your  friendship,  which  I  think  of 
with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  and  some  vanity.  If  ever  you 
see  me  married,  I  flatter  myself  you  '11  see  a  conduct  you  would 
not  be  sorry  your  wife  should  imitate. 


LETTER  VI. 

I  am  going  to  comply  with  your  request,  and  write  with  all 
the  plainness  I  am  capable  of.  I  know  what  may  be  said  upon 
such  a  proceeding,  but  am  sure  you  will  not  say  it.  Why 
should  you  always  put  the  worst  construction  upon  my  words  ? 
Believe  me  what  you  will,  but  do  not  believe  I  can  be  ungen- 
erous or  ungrateful.  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  what  answer  you 
will  receive  from  some  people,  or  upon  what  terms.  If  my 
opinion  could  sway,  nothing  should  displease  you.  Nobody 
ever  was  so  disinterested  as  I  am.  I  would  not  have  to  re- 
proach myself  (I  don't  suppose  you  would)  that  I  had  any 
ways  made  you  uneasy  in  your  circumstances.  Let  me  beg 
you  (which  I  do  with  the  utmost  sincerity)  only  to  consider 
yourself  in  this  affair ;  and  since  I  am  so  unfortunate  to  have 
nothing  in  my  own  disposal,  do  not  think  I  have  any  hand  in 
making  settlements.  People  in  my  way  are  sold  like  slaves  ; 
and  I  can  not  tell  what  price  my  master  will  put  on  me.  If 
you  do  agree,  I  shall  endeavor  to  contribute,  as  much  as  lies 
in  my  power,  to  your  happiness.  I  so  heartily  despise  a  great 
figure,  I  have  no  notion  of  spending  money  so  foolishly,  though 
one  had  a  great  deal  to  throw  away.  If  this  breaks  off,  I 
shall  not  complain  of  you  :  and  as,  whatever  happens,  I  shall 


28  LETTERS      TO 

still  preserve  the  opinion  that  you  have  behaved  yourself  well, 
let  me  entreat  you,  if  I  have  committed  any  follies,  to  for 
get  them ;  and  be  so  just  as  to  think  I  would  not  do  an  ill 
thing. 

I  say  nothing  of  my  letters  :  I  think  them  entirely  safe  in 
your  hands. 

I  shall  be  uneasy  till  I  know  this  is  come  to  you.  I  have 
tried  to  write  plainly :  I  know  not  what  one  can  say  more 
upon  paper. 


LETTER  VII. 

Indeed,  I  do  not  at  all  wonder  that  absence,  and  variety  of 
new  faces,  should  make  you  forget  me  ;  but  I  am  a  little  sur- 
prised at  your  curiosity  to  know  what  passes  in  my  heart  (a 
thing  wholly  insignificant  to  you),  except  you  propose  to 
yourself  a  piece  of  ill-natured  satisfaction,  in  finding  me  very 
much  disquieted.  Pray,  which  way  would  you  see  into  my 
heart  1  You  can  frame  no  guesses  about  it  from  either  my 
speaking  or  writing ;  and  supposing  I  should  attempt  to  show 
it  you,  I  know  no  other  way. 

I  begin  to  be  tired  of  my  humility :  I  have  carried  my 
complaisances  to  you  farther  than  I  ought.  You  make  new 
scruples  :  you  have  a  great  deal  of  fancy ;  and  your  distrusts 
being  all  of  your  own  making,  are  more  immovable  than  if 
there  were  some  real  ground  for  them.  Our  aunts  and  grand- 
mothers always  tell  us  that  men  are  a  sort  of  animals ;  that 
if  ever  they  are  constant,  'tis  only  where  they  are  ill  used. 
'T  was  a  kind  of  paradox  I  could  never  believe  :  experience 
has  taught  me  the  truth  of  it.  You  are  the  first  I  ever  had  a 
correspondence  with,  and  I  thank  God  I  have  done  with  it,  for 
all  my  life.  You  needed  not  to  have  told  me  you  are  not 
what  you  have  been  :  one  must  be  stupid  not  to  find  a  differ- 
ence in  your  letters.     You  seem,  in  one  part  of  your  last,  to 


EDWARD      WORTUY      MONTAGU.  29 

excuse  yourself  from  having  done  me  any  injury  in  point  of 
fortune.     Do  I  accuse  you  of  any  ? 

I  have  not  spirits  to  dispute  any  longer  with  you.  You  say 
you  are  not  yet  determined  :  let  me  determine  for  you,  and 
save  you  the  trouble  of  writing  again.  Adieu  forever :  make 
no  answer.  I  wish,  among  the  variety  of  acquaintance,  you 
may  find  some  one  to  please  you  ;  and  can't  help  the  vanitv 
of  thinking,  should  you  try  them  all,  you  won't  find  one  that 
will  be  so  sincere  in  their  treatment,  though  a  thousand  more 
deserving,  and  every  one  happier.  'Tis  a  piece  of  vanity  and 
injustice  I  never  forgive  in  a  woman,  to  delight  to  give  pain  ; 
what  must  I  think  of  a  man  that  takes  pleasure  in  making  me 
uneasy  ?  After  the  folly  of  letting  you  know  it  is  in  your 
power,  I  ought  in  prudence  to  let  this  go  no  further,  except  I 
thought  you  had  good-nature  enough  never  to  make  use  of 
that  power.  I  have  no  reason  to  think  so  :  however,  I  am 
willing,  you  see,  to  do  you  the  highest  obligation  'tis  possible 
for  me  to  do  : — that  is,  to  give  you  a  fair  occasion  of  being 
rid  of  me. 


LETTER  Vm. 

29  March. 

Though  your  letter  is  far  from  what  I  expected,  having 
once  promised  to  answer  it,  with  the  sincere  account  of  my 
inmost  thoughts,  I  am  resolved  you  shall  not  find  me  worse 
than  my  word,  which  is,  whatever  you  may  think,  inviolable. 

'Tis  not  affectation  to  say  that  I  despise  the  pleasure  of 
pleasing  people  whom  I  despise  ;  all  the  fine  equipages  that 
shine  in  the  ring  never  gave  me  another  thought  than  either 
pity  or  contempt  for  the  owners  that  could  place  happiness  in 
attracting  the  eyes  of  strangers.  Nothing  touches  me  with 
satisfaction  but  what  touches  my  heart ;  and  I  should  find 
more  pleasure  in  the  secret  joy  I  should  feel  at  a  kind  ex- 
pression from  a  friend  I  esteemed,  than  at  the  admiration  of  a 


30  LETTERS      TO 

whole  play-house,  or  the  envy  of  those  of  my  own  sex,  who 
could  not  attain  to  the  same  number  of  jewels,  fine  clothes, 
etc.,  supposing  I  was  at  the  very  summit  of  this  sort  of  hap- 
piness. 

You  may  be  this  friend  if  you  please  :  did  you  really  es- 
teem me,  had  you  any  tender  regard  for  me,  I  could,  I  think, 
pass  my  life  in  any  station,  happier  with  you,  than  in  all  the 
grandeur  of  the  world  with  any  other.  You  have  some  hu- 
mors, that  would  be  disagreeable  to  any  woman  that  married 
with  an  intention  of  finding  her  happiness  abroad.  That  is 
not  my  resolution.  If  I  marry,  I  propose  to  myself  a  retire- 
ment ;  there  is  few  of  my  acquaintance  I  should  ever  wish  to 
see  again  ;  and  the  pleasing  one,  and  only  one,  is  the  way  in 
which  I  design  to  please  myself.  Happiness  is  the  natural 
design  of  all  the  world ;  and  every  thing  we  see  done,  is 
meant  in  order  to  attain  it.  My  imagination  places  it  in 
friendship.  By  friendship,  I  mean  an  entire  communication 
of  thoughts,  wishes,  interests,  and  pleasures,  being  undivided ; 
a  mutual  esteem,  which  naturally  carries  with  it  a  pleasing 
sweetness  of  conversation,  and  terminates  in  the  desire  of 
making  one  or  another  happy,  without  being  forced  to  run 
into  visits,  noise,  and  hurry,  which  serve  rather  to  trouble, 
than  compose  the  thoughts  of  any  reasonable  creature. 
There  are  few  capable  of  a  friendship  such  as  I  have  de- 
scribed, and  'tis  necessary  for  the  generality  of  the  world  to 
be  taken  up  with  trifles.  Carry  a  fine  lady  or  a  fine  gentle 
man  out  of  town,  and  they  know  no  more  what  to  say.  To 
take  from  them  plays,  operas,  and  fashions,  is  taking  away 
all  their  topics  of  discourse  ;  and  they  know  not  how  to  form 
their  thoughts  on  any  other  subjects.  They  know  very  well 
what  it  is  to  be  admired,  but  are  perfectly  ignorant  of  what  it 
is  to  be  loved.  I  take  you  to  have  sense  enough  not  to  think 
this  science  romantic ;  I  rather  choose  to  use  the  word  friend- 
chip,  than  love  ;  because,  in  the  general  sense  that  word  is 
spoke,  it  signifies  a  passion  rather  founded  on  fancy  than 
reason ;  and  when  I  say  friendship,  I  mean  a  mixture  of 


EDWARD      WORTLEY      MONTAGU.  31 

friendship  and  esteem,  and  which  a  long  acquaintance  in- 
creases, not  decays.  How  far  I  deserve  such  a  friendship,  I 
can  be  no  judge  of  myself:  I  may  want  the  good  sense  that 
is  necessary  to  be  agreeable  to  a  man  of  merit,  but  I  know  I 
want  the  vanity  to  believe  I  have  ;  and  can  promise  you 
shall  never  like  me  less,  upon  knowing  me  better ;  and  that  I 
shall  never  forget  that  you  have  a  better  understanding  than 
myself. 

And  now  let  me  entreat  you  to  think,  if  possible,  tolerably 
of  my  modesty,  after  so  bold  a  declaration :  I  am  resolved  to 
throw  off  reserve,  and  use  me  ill  if  you  please.  I  am  sensible, 
to  own  my  inclination  for  a  man,  is  putting  one's  self  wholly 
in  his  power :  but  sure  you  have  generosity  enough  not  to 
abuse  it.  After  all  I  have  said,  I  pretend  no  tie  but  on  your 
heart :  if  you  do  not  love  me,  I  shall  not  be  happy  with  you  ; 
if  you  do,  I  need  add  no  further.  I  am  not  mercenary,  and 
would  not  receive  an  obligation  that  comes  not  from  one  who 
loves  me. 

I  do  not  desire  my  letter  back  again  :  you  have  honor,  and 
I  dare  trust  you. 

I  am  going  to  the  same  place  I  went  last  spring.  I  shall 
think  of  you  there  :  it  depends  upon  you  in  what  manner. 


LETTER  IX. 

I  am  going  to  write  you  a  plain  long  letter.  What  I  have 
already  told  you  is  nothing  but  the  truth.  I  have  no  reason 
to  believe  that  I  am  going  to  be  otherwise  confined  than  by 
my  duty  ;  but  I,  that  know  my  own  mind,  know  that  is 
enough  to  make  me  miserable.  I  see  all  the  misfortune  of 
marrying  where  it  is' impossible  to  love  ;  I  am  going  to  con- 
fess a  weakness  may  perhaps  add  to  your  contempt  of  me.  I 
wanted  courage  to  resist  at  first  the  will  of  my  relations  ;  but, 
as  every  day  added  to  my  fears,  those,  at  last,  grew  strong 


32  LETTERS      TO 

enougn  to  make  me  venture  the  disobliging  them.  A  harsh 
word  always  damps  my  spirits  to  a  degree  of  silencing  all  I 
have  to  say.  I  knew  the  folly  of  my  own  temper,  and  took 
the  method  of  writing  to  the  disposer  of  me.  I  said  every 
thing  in  this  letter  I  thought  proper  to  move  him,  and  prof- 
fered, in  atonement  for  not  marrying  whom  he  would,  never 
to  marry  at  all.  He  did  not  think  fit  to  answer  this  letter, 
but  sent  for  me  to  him.  He  told  me  he  was  very  much  sur- 
prised that  I  did  not  depend  on  his  judgment  for  my  future 
happiness  ;  that  he  knew  nothing  I  had  to  complain  of,  etc. ; 
that  he  did  not  doubt  I  had  some  other  fancy  in  my  head, 
which  encouraged  me  to  this  disobedience ;  but  he  assured 
me,  if  I  refused  a  settlement  he  had  provided  for  me,  he  gave 
me  his  word,  whatever  proposals  were  made  him,  he  would 
never  so  much  as  enter  into  a  treaty  with  any  other ;  that,  if 
I  founded  any  hopes  upon  his  death,  I  should  find  myself  mis- 
taken— he  never  intended  to  leave  me  any  thing  but  an  an- 
nuity of  £400  per  annum ;  that,  though  another  would  pro- 
ceed in  this  manner  after  I  had  given  so  just  a  pretense  for  it, 
yet  he  had  the  goodness  to  leave  my  destiny  yet  in  my  own 
choice,  and  at  the  same  time  commanded  me  to  communicate 
my  design  to  my  relations,  and  ask  their  advice.  As  hard  as 
this  may  sound,  it  did  not  shock  my  resolution  :  I  was 
pleased  to  think,  at  any  price,  I  had  it  in  my  power  to  be 
free  from  a  man  I  hated.  I  told  my  intention  to  all  my 
nearest  relations.  I  was  surprised  at  their  blaming  it,  to  the 
greatest  degree.  I  was  told  they  were  sorry  I  would  ruin  my- 
self;  but,  if  I  was  so  unreasonable,  they  could  not  blame  my 
father,  whatever  he  inflicted  on  me.  I  objected,  I  did  not 
love  him.  They  made  answer,  they  found  no  necessity  for 
loving :  if  I  lived  well  with  him,  that  was  all  was  required 
of  me  ;  and  that  if  I  considered  this  town,  I  should  find  very 
few  women  in  love  -with  their  husbands,  and  yet  a  many 
happy.  It  was  in  vain  to  dispute  with  such  prudent  people  ; 
they  looked  upon  me  as  a  little  romantic,  and  I  found  it  im- 
possible to  persuade  them  that  living  in  London  at  liberty 


EDWARD      WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  33 

was  not  the  height  of  happiness.  However,  they  could  not 
change  my  thoughts,  though  I  found  I  was  to  expect  no  pro- 
tection from  them.     When  I  was  to  give  my  final  answer  to 

,  I  told  him  that  I  preferred  a  single  life  to  any  other ; 

and,  if  he  pleased  to  permit  me,  I  would  take  that  resolution. 
He  replied,  that  he  could  not  hinder  my  resolutions,  but  X 
should  not  pretend  after  that  to  please  him  ;  since  pleasing 
him  was  only  to  be  done  by  obedience  ;  that  if  I  would  diso- 
bey, I  knew  the  consequences ;  he  would  not  fail  to  confine 
me,  where  I  might  repent  at  leisure  ;  that  he  had  also  con- 
sulted my  relations,  and  found  them  all  agreeing  in  his  senti- 
ments. He  spoke  this  in  a  manner  hindered  my  answering. 
I  retired  to  my  chamber,  where  I  writ  a  letter  to  let  him  know 
my  aversion  to  the  man  proposed  was  too  great  to  be  over- 
come, that  I  should  be  miserable  beyond  all  things  could  be 
imagined,  but  I  was  in  his  hands,  and  he  might  dispose  of  me 
as  he  thought  fit.  He  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  this  answer, 
and  proceeded  as  if  I  had  given  a  willing  consent. — I  forgot 
to  tell  you,  he  named  you,  and  said,  if  I  thought  that  way,  I 
was  very  much  mistaken  ;  that  if  he  had  no  other  engage- 
ments, yet  he  would  never  have  agreed  to  your  proposals, 
having  no  inclination  to  see  his  grandchildren  beggars. 

I  do  not  speak  this  to  alter  your  opinion,  but  to  show  the 
improbability  of  his  agreeing  to  it.  I  confess  I  am  entirely 
of  your  mind.  I  reckon  it  among  the  absurdities  of  custom, 
that  a  man  must  be  obliged  to  settle  his  estate  on  an  eldest 
son,  beyond  his  power  to  recall,  whatever  he  proves  to  be,  and 
make  himself  unable  to  make  happy  a  younger  child  that  may 
deserve  to  be  so.  If  I  had  an  estate  myself,  I  should  not 
make  such  ridiculous  settlements,  and  I  can  not  blame  you  for 
being  in  the  right. 

1  have  told  you  all  my  affairs  with  a  plain  sincerity.  I  have 
avoided  to  move  your  compassion,  and  I  have  said  nothing 
of  what  I  suffer ;  and  I  have  not  persuaded  you  to  a  treaty, 
which  I  am  sure  my  family  will  never  agree  to.  I  can  hav9 
no  fortune  without  an  entire  obedience. 

a* 


34  LETTERS      TO 

Whatever  your  business  is,  may  it  end  to  your  satisfaction. 
I  think  of  the  public  as  you  do.  As  little  as  that  is  a  woman's 
care,  it  may  be  permitted  into  the  number  of  a  woman's 
fears.  But,  wretched  as  I  am,  I  have  no  more  to  fear  for  my- 
self. I  have  still  a  concern  for  my  friends — I  am  in  pain  for 
your  danger.  I  am  far  from  taking  ill  what  you  say — I 
never  valued  myself  as  the  daughter  of ;  and  ever  de- 
spised those  that  esteemed  me  on  that  account.  With  pleas- 
ure I  could  barter  all  that,  and  change  to  be  any  country 
gentleman's  daughter  that  would  have  reason  enough  to  make 
happiness  in  privacy.  I  beg  your  pardon.  You  may  see  by 
the  situation  of  my  affairs  'tis  without  design. 


LETTER  X. 

Thursday  night. 
If  I  am  always  to  be  as  well  pleased  as  I  am  with  this  letter, 
I  enter  upon  a  state  of  perfect  happiness  in  complying  with 
you.  I  am  sorry  I  can  not  do  it  entirely  as  to  Friday  or  Sat- 
urday. I  will  tell  you  the  true  reason  of  it.  I  have  a  rela- 
tion that  has  ever  showed  an  uncommon  partiality  for  me.  I 
have  generally  trusted  him  with  all  my  thoughts,  and  I  have 
always  found  him  sincerely  my  friend.  On  the  occasion  of 
this  marriage,  he  received  my  complaints  with  the  greatest 
degree  of  tenderness.  He  proffered  me  to  disoblige  my 
father  (by  representing  to  him  the  hardship  he  was  doing) 
if  I  thought  it  would  be  of  any  service  to  me  ;  and,  when  he 
heard  me  in  some  passion  of  grief  assure  him  it  could  do  me 
no  good,  he  went  yet  further,  and  tenderly  asked  me  if  there 
was  any  other  man,  though  of  a  smaller  fortune,  I  could  be 
happy  with  ;  and,  how  much  soever  it  should  be  against  the 
will  of  my  other  relations,  assured  me  he  would  assist  me  in 
making  me  happy  after  my  own  way.  This  is  an  obligation  I 
can  never  forget,  and  I  think  I  should  have  cause  to  reproach 
myself  if  I  did  this  without  letting  him  know  it,  and  I  believe 


EDWARD      WORTLEY      MONTAGU.  So 

he  will  approve  of  it.  You  guess  whom  I  mean. — The  gen- 
erosity and  the  goodness  of  this  letter  wholly  determines  my 
softest  inclinations  on  your  side.  You  are  in  the  wrong  to 
suspect  me  of  artifice ;  plainly  showing  me  the  kindness  of 
your  heart  (if  you  have  any  there  for  me)  is  the  surest  way  to 
touch  mine.  I  am  at  this  minute  more  inclined  to  speak  ten- 
derly to  you  than  ever  I  was  in  my  life — so  much  inclined,  I 
will  say  nothing.  I  could  wish  you  would  leave  England,  but 
I  know  not  how  to  object  to  any  thing  that  pleases  you.  In 
this  minute  I  have  no  will  that  does  not  agree  with  yours.  Sun- 
day I  shall  see  you,  if  you  do  not  hear  from  me  Saturday. 


LETTER  XI. 

Friday  night. 

I  tremble  for  what  we  are  doing. — Are  you  sure  you  shall 

love  me  forever  %     Shall  we  never  repent  ?     I  fear  and  I  hope. 

I  foresee  all  that  will  happen  on  this  occasion.     I  shall  incense 

my  family  in  the  highest  degree.     The  generality  of  the  world 

will  blame  my  conduct,  and  the  relations  and  friends  of 

will  inv3nt  a  thousand  stories  of  me  ;  yet,  'tis  possible  you 
may  recompense  every  thing  to  me.  In  this  letter,  which  I 
am  fond  of,  you  promise  me  all  that  I  wish.  Since  I  writ  so 
far,  I  received  your  Friday  letter.  I  will  be  only  yours,  and 
I  will  do  what  you  please. 


LETTER  XII.* 

Walling  Wells,  Oct.  22,  1U2. 
I  don't  know  very  well  how  to  begin  ;  I  am  perfectly  un 
acquainted  with  a  proper  matrimonial    style.      After  all,  1 

*  The  following  letters,  written  during  the  first  four  years  of  Lady 
Mary's  married  life,  are  deeply  interesting  from  the  insight  they  give 
ns  of  her  character  as  a  wife  and  mother.     Her  warm,  unselfish  feel- 


36  LETTERS      TO 

think  'tis  best  to  write  as  if  we  were  not  married  at  all.  I 
lament  your  absence  as  if  you  were  still  my  lover,  and  I  am 
impatient  to  bear  you  bave  got  safe  to  Durbam,  and  that  you 
have  fixed  a  time  for  your  return. 

I  bave  not  been  very  long  in  this  family ;  and  I  fancy  my- 
self in  tbat  described  in  tbe  Spectator.  Tbe  good  people  here 
look  upon  their  children  with  a  fondness  that  more  than  rec- 
ompenses their  care  of  them.  I  don't  perceive  much  distinc- 
tion in  regard  to  their  merits  ;  and  when  they  speak  sense  or 
nonsense,  it  affects  the  parents  with  almost  the  same  pleasure. 
My  friendship  for  the  mother,  and  kindness  for  Miss  Biddy, 
make  me  endure  the  squalling  of  Miss  Nanny  and  Miss  Mary 
with  abundance  of  patience  ;  and  my  foretelling  the  future 
conquests  of  the  eldest  daughter,  makes  me  very  well  with  the 
family.  I  don't  know  whether  you  will  presently  find  out, 
that  tbis  seeming  impertinent  account  is  the  tenderest  ex- 
pressions of  my  love  to  you  :  but  it  furnishes  my  imagination 
with  agreeable  pictures  of  our  future  life  ;  and  I  flatter  my- 
self with  the  hopes  of  one  day  enjoying  with  you  the  same 
satisfactions ;  and  that,  after  as  many  years  together,  I  may 
see  you  retain  the  same  fondness  for  me  as  I  shall  certainly  do 
for  you,  when  the  noise  of  a  nursery  may  have  more  charms 
-for  us  than  the  music  of  an  opera. 

Amusements  such  as  these  are  the  sure  effect  of  my  sin- 
cere love,  since  'tis  the  nature  of  the  passion  to  entertain  the 
mind  with  pleasures  in  prospect,  and  I  check  myself  when  1 
grieve  for  your  absence,  by  remembering  how  much  reason  I 
have  to  rejoice  in  the  hope  of  passing  my  whole  life  with  you. 
A  good  fortune  not  to  be  valued  !  I  am  afraid  of  telling  you 
that  I  return  thanks  for  it  to  Heaven,  because  you  will  charge 
me  with  hypocrisy  ;  but  you  are  mistaken  ;  I  assist  every  day 
at  public  prayers  in  this  family,  and  never  forget  in  my  private 
ejaculations  how  much  I  owe  to  Heaven  for  making  me  yours. 

ings  contrast  most  strikingly  with  her  husband's  cold  manners  and 
neglectful  habits  toward  her.  The  revealings  are  painful,  but  justice 
to  her  memory  forbids  tnem  to  be  suppressed. 


EDWARD      WORTLEY      MONTAGU.  37 

'Tis  candle-light,  or  I  should  not  conclude  so  soon.  Pray, 
my  love,  begin  at  the  top,  and  read  till  you  come  to  the  bot- 
tom. 


LETTER  XIII. 


Your  short  letter  came  to  me  this  morning ;  but  I  won't 
quarrel  with  it,  since  it  brought  me  good  news  of  your  health. 
I  wait  with  impatience  for  that  of  your  return.  The  Bishop 
of  Salisbury  writes  me  word  that  my  Lord  Pierrepont*  de- 
clares very  much  for  us.  As  the  bishop  is  no  infallible 
prelate,  I  should  not  depend  much  on  that  intelligence  ;  but 
my  sister  Frances  tells  me  the  same  thing.  Since  it  is  so,  I 
believe  you  '11  think  it  very  proper  to  pay  him  a  visit,  if  he  is 
in  town,  and  give  him  thanks  for  the  good  offices  you  hear 
he  has  endeavored  to  do  me,  unasked.  If  his  kindness  is  sin- 
cere, 'tis  too  valuable  to  be  neglected.  However,  the  very 
appearance  of  it  must  be  of  use  to  us.  I  think  I  ought  to 
write  him  a  letter  of  acknowledgment  for  what  I  hear  he  has 
already  done.  The  bishop  tells  me  he  has  seen  Lord  Halifax, 
who  says,  besides  his  great  esteem  for  you,  he  has  particular 
respect  for  me,  and  will  take  pains  to  reconcile  my  father,  etc. 
I  think  this  is  nearly  the  words  of  my  letter,  which  contains 
all  the  news  I  know,  except  that  of  your  place ;  which  is, 
that  an  unfortunate  burgess  of  the  town  of  Huntingdon  was 
justly  disgraced  yesterday  in  the  face  of  the  congregation,  for 
being  false  to  his  first  lover,  who,  with  an  audible  voice,  forbid 
the  banns  published  between  him  and  a  greater  fortune.  This 
accident  causes  as  many  disputes  here  as  the  duel  could  do 
where  you  are.  Public  actions,  you  know,  always  make  two 
parties.  The  great  prudes  say  the  young  woman  should  have 
suffered  in  silence ;  and  the  pretenders  to  spirit  and  fire 
would  have  all  false  men  so  served,  and  hope  it  will  be  an  ex- 

*  Gervase  Pierrepont,  created  Baron  Pierrepont  of  Hanslope,  1*714, 
great-uncle  of  Lady  Mary  "Wortly  Montague,  being,  at  that  time,  an 
Irish  baron. 


38  LETTERSTO 

ample  for  the  terror  of  infidelity  throughout  the  whole  coun- 
try. For  my  part,  I  never  rejoiced  at  any  thing  more  in  my 
life.  You  '11  wonder  what  private  interest  I  could  have  in  this 
affair.  You  must  know  it  furnished  discourse  all  the  after- 
noon, which  was  no  little  service,  when  I  was  visited  by  the 
young  ladies  of  Huntingdon.  This  long  letter,  I  know,  must 
be  particularly  impertinent  to  a  man  of  business  ;  but  idleness 
is  the  root  of  all  evil ;  I  write  and  read  till  I  can't  see,  and 
then  I  walk ;  sleep  succeeds ;  and  thus  my  whole  time  is 
divided.  If  I  were  as  well  qualified  all  other  ways  as  I  am  by 
idleness,  I  would  publish  a  daily  paper  called  the  Meditator. 
The  terrace  is  my  place  consecrated  to  meditation,  which  I 
observe  to  be  gay  or  grave  as  the  sun  shows  or  hides  his  face. 
Till  to-day  I  have  had  no  occasion  of  opening  my  mouth  to 
speak,  since  I  wished  you  a  good  journey.  I  see  nothing,  but 
I  think  of  every  thing,  and  indulge  my  imagination,  which  is 
chiefly  employed  on  you. 


LETTER  X1Y. 

December  9,  1712. 
I  am  not  at  all  surprised  at  my  Aunt  Cheyne's  conduct : 
people  are  seldom  very  much  grieved  (and  never  ought  to  be) 
at  misfortunes  they  expect.  When  I  gave  myself  to  you,  I 
gave  up  the  very  desire  of  pleasing  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
am  pretty  indifferent  about  it.  I  think  you  are  very  much  in 
the  right  for  designing  to  visit  Lord  Pierrepont.  As  much  as 
you  say  I  love  the  town,  if  you  think  it  necessary  for  your 
interest  to  stay  some  time  here,  I  would  not  advise  you  to 
neglect  a  certainty  for  an  uncertainty ;  but  I  believe,  if  you 
pass  the  Christmas  here,  great  matters  will  be  expected  from 
your  hospitality:  however,  you  are  a  better  judge  of  that 
than  I  am.  I  continue  indifferently  well,  and  endeavor  as 
much  as  I  can  to  preserve  myself  from  spleen  and  melancholy ; 
not  for  my  own  sake  ;  T  think  that  of  little  importance  *  but 


EDWARD      WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  39 

in  the  condition  I  am,  I  believe  it  may  be  of  very  ill  conse- 
quence ;  yet,  passing  whole  days  alone  as  I  do,  I  do  not  al- 
ways find  it  possible  :  and  my  constitution  will  sometimes  get 
the  better  of  my  reason.  Human  nature  itself,  without  any 
additional  misfortunes,  furnishes  disagreeable  meditations 
enough.  Life  itself,  to  make  it  supportable,  should  not  be 
considered  too  nearly :  my  reason  represents  to  me  in  vain 
the  inutility  of  serious  reflections.  The  idle  mind  will  some- 
times fall  into  contemplations  that  serve  for  nothing  but  to 
ruin  the  health,  destroy  good-humor,  hasten  old  age  and 
wrinkles,  and  bring  on  an  habitual  melancholy.  'Tis  a  maxim 
with  me  to  be  young  as  long  as  one  can :  there  is  nothing- 
can  pay  one  for  that  invaluable  ignorance  which  is  the  com- 
panion of  youth  :  those  sanguine  groundless  hopes,  and  that 
lively  vanity,  which  make  all  the  happiness  of  life.  To  my 
extreme  mortification,  I  grow  wiser  every  day. — I  don't  be- 
lieve Solomon  was  more  convinced  of  the  vanity  of  temporal 
affairs  than  I  am  :  I  lose  all  taste  of  this  world,  and  I  suffer 
myself  to  be  bewitched  by  the  charms  of  the  spleen,  though  I 
know  and  foresee  all  the  irremediable  mischiefs  arising  from 
it.  I  am  insensibly  fallen  into  the  writing  you  a  melancholy 
letter,  after  all  my  resolutions  to  the  contrary ;  but  I  do  not 
enjoin  you  to  read  it :  make  no  scruple  of  flinging  it  into  the 
fire,  at  the  first  dull  line.  Forgive  the  ill  effects  of  my  soli- 
tude, and  think  me,  as  I  am,  ever  yours. 


LETTER  XV. 

No  date. 

I  don't  believe  you  expect  to  hear  from  me  so  soon  ;  I  re- 
member you  did  not  so  much  as  desire  it,  but  I  will  not  be  so 
nice  to  quarrel  with  you  on  that  point ;  perhaps  you  would 
laugh  at  that  delicacy,  which  is,  however,  an  attendant  upon 
tender  friendship. 

1  opened  a  closet  where  I  expected  to  find  so  many  books  : 


4:0  LETTERS      TO 

to  my  great  disappointment,  there  were  only  some  few  piecea 
of  the  law,  and  folios  of  mathematics ;  my  Lord  Hinching- 
brook  and  Mr.  Twin  am  having  disposed  of  the  rest.  But  as 
there  is  no  affliction,  no  more  than  no  happiness,  without  alloy, 
I  discovered  an  old  trunk  of  papers,  which,  to  my  great  diver- 
sion, I  found  to  be  the  letters  of  the  first  Earl  of  Sandwich  ; 
>'  and  am  in  hopes  that  those  from  his  lady  will  tend  much  to 
I  my  edification,  being  the  most  extraordinary  lessons  of  econo- 
my that  ever  I  read  in  my  life.  To  the  glory  of  your  father, 
I  find  that  his  looked  upon  him  as  destined  to  be  the  honor 
of  the  family. 

I  walked  yesterday  two  hours  on  the  terrace.  These  are 
the  most  considerable  events  that  have  happened  in  your  ab- 
sence ;  excepting,  that  a  good-natured  robin  red-breast  kept 
me  company  almost  the  whole  afternoon,  with  so  much  good- 
humor  and  humanity,  as  gives  me  faith  for  the  piece  of 
charity  ascribed  to  these  little  creatures  in  the  "  Children  in  the 
"Wood,"  which  I  have  hitherto  thought  only  a  poetical  orna- 
ment of  history. 

I  expect  a  letter  next  post  to  tell  me  you  are  well  in  London, 
and  that  your  business  will  not  detain  you  long  from  her  who 
can  not  be  happy  without  you. 


LETTER  XVI. 

No  date. 

I  am  alone,  without  any  amusement  to  take  up  my  thoughts 
I  am  in  circumstances  in  which  melancholy  is  apt  to  prevai 
even  over  all  amusements,  dispirited  and  alone,  and  you  write 
me  quarreling  letters. 

I  hate  complaining :  'tis  no  sign  I  am  easy  that  I  do  not 
trouble  you  with  my  headaches  and  my  spleen  ;  to  be  reason- 
able, one  should  never  complain  but  when  one  hopes  redress. 
A  physician  should  be  the  only  confidant  of  bodily  pains ; 
and  for  pains  of  the  mind,  they  should  never  be  spoke  of  but 


EDWARD      WORTLET     MONTAGU.  41 

to  them  that  can  and  will  relieve  them.  Should  I  tell  you 
that  I  am  uneasy,  that  I  am  out  of  humor,  and  out  of  pa- 
tience, should  I  see  you  half  an  hour  the  sooner  ?  I  believe 
you  have  kindness  enough  for  me  to  be  very  sorry,  and  so 
you  would  tell  me  ;  and  things  remain  in  their  primitive 
state  ;  I  choose  to  spare  you  that  pain  ;  I  would  always  give 
you  pleasure.  I  know  you  are  ready  to  tell  me  that  I  do  not 
ever  keep  to  these  good  maxims.  I  confess  I  often  speak  im- 
pertinently, but  I  always  repent  of  it.  My  last  stupid  letter 
was  not  come  to  you  before  I  would  have  had  it  back  again, 
had  it  been  in  my  power  :  such  as  it  was,  I  beg  your  pardon 
for  it.  I  did  not  expect  that  my  Lord  Pierrepont  would 
speak  at  all  in  our  favor,  much  less  show  zeal  upon  that  occa- 
sion, that  never  showed  any  in  his  life.  I  have  writ  every 
post,  and  you  accuse  me  without  reason.  I  can't  imagine 
how  they  should  miscarry ;  perhaps  you  have  by  this  time 
received  two  together.  Adieu !  je  suis  a  vous  de  tout  mon 
<'03ur. 


LETTER  XVII. 

No  date. 
I  was  not  well  when  I  wrote  to  you  last.  Possibly  the  dis- 
order in  my  health  might  increase  the  uneasiness  of  my  mind. 
I  am  sure  the  uneasiness  of  my  mind  increases  the  disorder  of 
my  health  ;  for  I  passed  the  night  without  sleeping,  and  found 
myself  the  next  morning  in  a  fever.  I  have  not  since  left  my 
chamber.  I  have  been  very  ill,  and  kept  my  bed  four  days, 
which  was  the  reason  of  my  silence,  but  I  am  afraid  you  have 
attributed  it  to  being  out  of  humor ;  but  was  so  far  from 
being  in  a  condition  of  writing,  I  could  hardly  speak ;  my 
face  being  prodigiously  swelled,  that  I  was  forced  to  have  it 
lanced,  to  prevent  its  breaking,  which  they  said  would  have 
been  of  worse  consequence.  I  would  not  order  Grace  to 
write  to  you,  for  fear  you  should  think  me  worse  than  I  was  ; 


4-2  LETTERS      TO 

though  I  don't  believe  the  fright  would  have  been  considerable 
enough  to  have  done  you  much  harm.  I  am  now  much 
better,  and  intend  to  take  the  air  in  the  coach  to-day ;  for 
keeping  to  my  chair  so  much  as  I  do,  will  hardly  recover  my 
strength. 

I  wish  you  would  write  again  to  Mr.  Phipps,  for  I  don't  hear 
of  any  money,  and  am  in  the  utmost  necessity  for  it. 


LETTER  XVIH. 

No  date. 
I  am  at  present  in  so  much  uneasiness  my  letter  is  not  likely 
to  be  intelligible,  if  it  at  all  resembles  the  confusion  of  my 
head.  I  sometimes  imagine  you  not  well,  and  sometimes  that 
you  think  it  of  small  importance  to  write,  or  that  greater  mat- 
ters have  taken  up  your  thoughts.  This  last  imagination  is 
too  cruel  for  me.  I  will  rather  fancy  your  letter  has  miscar- 
ried, though  T  find  little  probability  to  think  so.  I  know  not 
what  to  think,  and  am  near  being  distracted,  among  my  va- 
riety of  dismal  apprehensions.  I  am  very  ill  company  to  the 
good  people  of  the  house,  who  all  bid  me  make  you  their 
compliments.  Mr.  White  begins  your  health  twice  every  day. 
You  don't  deserve  all  this,  if  you  can  be  so  entirely  forgetful 
of  all  this  part  of  the  world.  I  am  peevish  with  you  by  fits, 
and  divide  my  time  between  anger  and  sorrow,  which  are 
equally  troublesome  to  me.  'Tis  the  most  cruel  thing  in  the 
world  to  think  one  has  reason  to  complain  of  what  one  loves. 
How  can  you  be  so  careless  ? — is  it  because  you  don't  love 
writing  ?  You  should  remember  I  want  to  know  you  are  safe 
at  Durham.  I  shall  imagine  you  have  had  some  fall  from 
your  horse,  or  ill  accident  by  the  way,  without  regard  to  prob- 
ability ;  there  is  nothing  too  extravagant  for  a  woman's  and  a 
lover's  fear.  Did  you  receive  my  last  letter  ?  If  you  did 
not,  the  direction  is  wrong,  you  won't  receive  this,  and  my 
question  is  in  vain.     I  find  I  begin  to  talk  nonsense  ;  and  'tia 


EDWARD      WORTLEY      MONTAGU.  43 

time  to  leave  off.     Pray,  my  dear,  write  to  me,  or  I  shall 
be  very  mad. 


LETTER  XIX. 

No  date. 

I  am  at  this  minute  told  I  have  an  opportunity  of  writing 
a  short  letter  to  you,  which  will  be  all  reproaches.  You  know 
where  I  am,  and  I  have  not  once  heard  from  you.  I  am  tired 
of  this  place  because  I  do  not ;  and  if  you  persist  in  your 
silence,  I  will  return  to  Wkarncliffe.  I  had  rather  be  quite  alone 
and  hear  sometimes  from  you,  than  in  any  company  and  not 
have  that  satisfaction.  Your  silence  makes  me  more  melan- 
choly than  any  solitude,  and  I  can  think  on  nothing  so 
dismal  as  that  you  forget  me.  I  heard  from  your  little  boy 
yesterday,  who  is  in  good  health.  I  will  return  and  keep 
him  company. 

The  good  people  of  this  family  present  you  their  services 
and  good  wishes,  never  failing  to  drink  your  health  twice  a 
day.  I  am  importuned  to  make  haste ;  but  I  have  much 
more  to  say,  which  may,  however,  be  comprehended  in  these 
words — I  am  yours. 


LETTER  XX. 

No  date. 
I  should  have  writ  to  you  last  post,  but  I  slept  till  it  was 
too  late  to  send  my  letter.  I  found  our  poor  boy  not  so 
well  as  I  expected.  He  is  very  lively,  but  so  weak  that  my 
heart  aches  about  him  very  often.  I  hope  you  are  well :  I 
should  be  glad  to  hear  so,  and  what  success  you  have  in  your 
business.  I  suppose  my  sister  is  married  by  this  time.  I 
hope  you  intend  to  stay  some  da}s  at  Lord  Pierrepont's ;  I 
am  sure  he  '11  be  very  much  pleased  with  it.  The  house  is  in 
great  disorder,  and  I  want  maids  so  much  that  I  know  not- 


44  LETTERSTO 

what  to  do  till  I  have  some.  I  have  not  one  bit  of  paper  m 
the  house,  but  this  little  sheet,  or  you  would  have  been 
troubled  with  a  longer  scribble.  I  have  not  yet  had  any 
visitors.  Mrs.  Elcock  has  writ  me  word  that  she  has  not 
J  found  any  cook.  My  first  inquiries  shall  be  after  a  country- 
house,  never  forgetting  any  of  my  promises  to  you.  I  am 
concerned  I  have  not  heard  from  you  ;  you  might  have  writ 
while  I  was  on  the  road,  and  your  letter  would  have  met  me 
here.  I  am  in  abundance  of  pain  about  our  dear  child : 
though  I  am  convinced,  in  my  reason,  'tis  both  silly  and  wicked 
to  set  my  heart  too  fondly  on  any  thing  in  this  world,  yet  I 
can  not  overcome  myself  so  far  as  to  think  of  parting  with 
him,  with  the  resignation  that  I  ought  to  do.  I  hope  and  I 
beg  of  God  he  may  live  to  be  a  comfort  to  us  both.  They 
tell  me  there  is  nothing  extraordinary  in  want  of  teeth  at  his 
age,  but  his  weakness  makes  me  very  apprehensive ;  he  is 
almost  never  out  of  my  sight.  Mrs.  Behn  says  that  the  cold 
bath  is  the  best  medicine  for  weak  children,  but  I  am  very 
fearful,  and  unwilling  to  try  any  hazardous  remedies.  He  is 
very  cheerful,  and  full  of  play.  Adieu,  my  love  ;  my  paper 
is  out. 


LETTER  XXI. 


[Dated,  by  Mr.  Wortley,  24th  November.] 
I  have  taken  up  and  laid  down  my  pen  several  times,  very 
much  unresolved  in  what  style  I  ought  to  write  to  you  :  for 
once  I  suffer  my  inclination  to  get  the  better  ©f  my  reason.  I 
have  not  often  opportunities  of  indulging  mysell,  and  I  will  do 
it  in  this  one  letter.  I  know  very  well  that  nobody  was  ever 
teased  into  a  liking  ;  and  'tis  perhaps  harder  to  revive  a  past 
one,  than  to  overcome  an  aversion,  but  I  can  not  forbear  any 
longer  telling  you  I  think  you  use  me  very  unkindly.  T  don't 
say  so  much  of  your  absence,  as  I  should  do,  if  you  were  in  the 
country  and  I  in  London  ;  because  I  would  not  have  vou  be- 


EDWARD      WORTLEY      MONTAGU.  45 

lieve  that  I  am  impatient  to  be  in  town,  when  I  say  I  am  im- 
patient to  be  with  you  ;  but  I  am  very  sensible  I  parted  with 
you  in  July,  and  'tis  now  the  middle  of  November.  As  if 
this  was  not  hardship  enough,  you  do  not  tell  me  you  are 
sorry  for  it.  You  write  seldom,  and  with  so  much  indiffer- 
ence as  shows  you  hardly  think  of  me  at  all.  I  complain  of 
ill  health,  and  you  only  say  you  hope  'tis  not  so  bad  as  I  make 
it.  You  never  inquire  after  your  child.  I  would  fain  flatter 
myself  you  have  more  kindness  for  me  and  him  than  you  ex- 
press ;  but  I  reflect  with  grief  that  a  man  that  is  ashamed  of 
passions  that  are  natural  and  reasonable,  is  generally  proud  of 
those  that  are  shameful  and  silly. 

You  should  consider  solitude,  and  spleen,  the  consequence 
of  solitude,  is  apt  to  give  the  most  melancholy  ideas,  and  there 
needs  at  least  tender  letters  and  kind  expressions  to  hinder 
uneasinesses  almost  inseparable  from  absence.  I  am  very  sens- 
ible how  far  I  ought  to  be  contented  when  your  affairs  oblige 
you  to  be  without  me.  I  would  not  have  you  do  yourself  any 
prejudice ;  but  a  little  kindness  will  cost  you  nothing.  I  do 
not  bid  you  lose  any  thing  by  hasting  to  see  me,  but  I  would 
have  you  think  it  a  misfortune  when  we  are  asunder.  Instead 
of  that,  you  seem  perfectly  pleased  with  our  separation,  and 
indifferent  how  long  it  continues.  When  I  reflect  on  your 
behavior,  I  am  ashamed  of  my  own,  and  think  I  am  playing 
the  part  of  my  Lady  "Winchester.  At  least  be  as  generous  as 
my  lord ;  and  as  he  made  her  an  early  confession  of  his  aver- 
sion, own  to  me  your  inconstancy,  and  upon  my  word  I  will 
give  you  no  more  trouble  about  it.  I  have  concealed  as  long 
as  I  can  the  uneasiness  the  nothingness  of  your  letters  have 
given  me,  under  an  affected  indifference  ;  but  dissimulation 
always  sits  awkwardly  upon  me  ;  I  am  weary  of  it ;  and  must 
beg  you  to  write  to  me  no  more,  if  you  can  not  bring  yourseh 
to  write  otherwise.  Multiplicity  of  business  or  diversions  may 
have  engaged  you,  but  all  people  find  time  to  do  what  they 
have  a  mind  to.  If  your  inclination  is  gone,  I  had  rather 
never  receive  a  letter  from  you,  than  one  which,  in  lieu  of 


46  LETTERS     TO 

comfort  for  your  absence,  gives  me  a  pain  even  beyond  it 
For  my  part,  as  'tis  my  first,  this  is  my  last  complaint,  and 
your  next  of  the  kind  shall  go  back  inclosed  to  you  in 
blank  paper. 


LETTER  XXII. 

No  date. 

*  *  *  *  I  thank  God  this  cold  well  agrees  very  much 
with  the  child  ;  and  he  seems  stronger  and  better  every  day. 
But  I  should  be  very  glad,  if  you  saw  Dr.  Garth,  if  you  would 
ask  his  opinion  concerning  the  use  of  cold  baths  for  young 
children.  I  hope  you  love  the  child  as  well  as  I  do  ;  but  if 
you  love  me  at  all,  you  '11  desire  the  preservation  of  his 
health,  for  I  should  certainly  break  my  heart  for  him. 

I  writ  in  my  last  all  I  thought  necessary  about  my  Lord 
Pierrepont. 


LETTER  XXIH. 

11 14. 

I  can  not  forbear  taking  it  something  unkindly  that  you  do 
not  write  to  me,  when  you  may  be  assured  I  am  in  a  great 
fright,  and  know  not  certainly  what  to  expect  upon  this  sud- 
den change.  The  Archbishop  of  York  has  been  come  to 
Bishopthorp  but  three  days.  I  went  with  my  cousin  to-day 
to  see  the  king  proclaimed,  which  was  done  ;  the  archbishop 
walking  next  the  lord-mayor,  and  all  the  country  gentry  fol- 
lowing, with  greater  crowds  of  people  than  I  believed  to  be  in 
York,  vast  acclamations,  and  the  appearance  of  general  satis- 
faction. The  Pretender  afterward  dragged  about  the  streets 
and  burned.  Ringing  of  bells,  bonfires,  and  illuminations  ; 
the  mob  crying  "  Liberty  and  property !"  and  "  Long  live  King 
George  !"  This  morning  all  the  principal  men  of  any  figure 
took  post  for  London,  and  we  are  alarmed  with  the  fear  of  at 


EDWARD     WORTLEY      MONTAGU.  4-7 

tempts  from  Scotland,  though  all  the  Protestants  here  seem 
unanimous  for  the  Hanover  succession.  The  poor  young 
ladies  at  Castle  Howard*  are  as  much  alarmed  as  I  am,  being 
'eft  all  alone,  without  any  hopes  of  seeing  their  father  again 
(though  things  should  prove  well)  this  eight  or  nine  months. 
They  have  sent  to  desire  me  very  earnestly  to  come  to  them, 
and  bring  my  boy :  'tis  the  same  thing  as  pensioning  in  a 
nunnery,  for  no  mortal  man  ever  enters  the  doors  in  the  ab- 
sence of  their  father,  who  is  gone  post.  During  this  uncer 
tainty,  I  think  it  will  be  a  safe  retreat ;  for  Middlethorp 
stands  exposed  to  plunderers,  if  there  be  any  at  all.  I  dare 
say,  after  the  zeal  the  archbishop  has  showed,  they  '11  visit  his 
house,  and  consequently  this,  in  the  first  place.  The  arch- 
bishop made  me  many  compliments  on  our  near  neighbor- 
hood, and  said  he  should  be  overjoyed  at  the  happiness  of 
improving  his  acquaintance  with  you.  I  suppose  you  may 
now  come  in  at  Aldburgh,  and  I  heartily  wish  you  were  in 
Parliament.  I  saw  the  ai  chbishop's  list  of  the  lords  regents 
appointed,  and  I  perceive  Lord  W***  is  not  one  of  them ;  by 
which  I  guess  the  new  scheme  is  not  to  make  use  of  any  man 
grossly  infamous  in  either  party ;  consequently,  those  that  have 
been  honest  in  regard  to  both  will  stand  fairest  for  prefer- 
ment. You  understand  these  things  much  better  than  me ; 
but  I  hope  you  will  be  persuaded  by  me  and  your  other 
friends  (who,  I  don't  doubt,  will  be  of  my  opinion)  that  'tis 
necessary  for  the  common  good  for  an  honest  man  to  en- 
deavor to  be  powerful,  when  he  can  be  the  one  without  losing 
the  first  more  valuable  title ;  and  remember  that  money  is  the 
source  of  power.  I  hear  that  Parliament  sits  but  six  months  : 
you  know  best  whether  'tis  worth  any  expense  or  bustle  to  be 
m  it  for  so  short  a  time. 

*  The  daughters  of  the  Earl  of  Carlisle. 


48  LETTERS      TO 

LETTER  XXIV. 

No  date. 
You  made  me  cry  two  hours  last  night.  I  can  not  imagine 
why  you  use  me  so  ill ;  for  what  reason  you  continue  silent, 
when  you  know  at  any  time  your  silence  can  not  fail  of  giving 
me  a  great  deal  of  pain  ;  and  now  to  a  higher  degree  because 
of  the  perplexity  that  I  am  in,  without  knowing  where  you  are, 
what  you  are  doing,  or  what  to  do  with  myself  and  my  dear 
little  boy.  However  (persuaded  there  can  be  no  objection  to 
it),  I  intend  to  go  to-morrow  to  Castle  Howard,  and  remain 
there  with  the  young  ladies,  till  I  know  when  I  shall  see  you, 
or  what  you  would  command.  The  archbishop  and  every  body 
else  are  gone  to  London.  We  are  alarmed  with  a  story  of  a 
fleet  being  seen  from  the  coasts  of  Scotland.  An  express 
went  from  thence  through  York  to  the  Earl  of  Mar.  I  beg 
you  would  write  to  me.  Till  you  do,  I  shall  not  have  an 
easy  minute.  I  am  sure  I  do  not  deserve  from  you  that  you 
should  make  me  uneasy.  I  find  I  am  scolding — 'tis  better  for 
me  not  to  trouble  you  with  it ;  but  I  can  not  help  taking  your 
silence  very  unkindly. 


LETTER  XXV. 

1714 

Though  I  am  very  impatient  to  see  you,  I  would  not  have 
you,  by  hastening  to  come  down,  lose  any  part  of  your  inter- 
est. I  am  surprised  you  say  nothing  of  where  you  stand.  I 
had  a  letter  from  Mrs.  He  wet  last  post,  who  said  she  heard 
you  stood  at  Newark,  and  would  be  chose  without  opposition ; 
but  I  fear  her  intelligence  is  not  at  all  to  be  depended  on.  I 
am  glad  you  think  of  serving  your  friends  ;  I  hope  it  will  put 
you  in  mind  of  serving  yourself.  I  need  not  enlarge  upon  the 
advantages  of  money ;  every  thing  we  see  and  every  thing  we 
hear,  puts  us  in  remembrance  of  it.     If  it  were  possible  to 


EDWARD      WORTLEY      MONTAGU.  49 

restore  liberty  to  your  country,  or  limit  the  encroachments  of 
the  prerogative,  by  reducing  yourself  to  a  garret,  I  should  be 
pleased  to  share  so  glorious  a  poverty  with  you ;  but,  as  the 
world  is  and  will  be,  'tis  a  sort  of  duty  to  be  rich,  that  it  may 
be  in  one's  power  to  do  good  ;  riches  being  another  word  for 
power,  toward  the  obtaining  of  which  the  first  necessary 
qualification  is  impudence,  and  (as  Demosthenes  said  of  pro- 
nunciation in  oratory)  the  second  is  impudence,  and  the  third, 
still  impudence.  No  modest  man  ever  did  or  ever  will  make 
his  fortune.  Your  friend  Lord  Halifax,  R.  Walpole,  and  all 
other  remarkable  instances  of  quick  advancement,  have  been 
remarkably  impudent.  The"  ministry  is  like  a  play  at  court : 
there  's  a  little  door  to  get  in,  and  a  great  crowd  without, 
shoving  and  trusting  who  shall  be  foremost ;  people  who 
knock  others  with  their  elbows,  disregard  a  little  kick  of  the 
shins,  and  still  thrust  heartily  forward,  are  sure  of  a  good 
place.  Your  modest  man  stands  behind  in  the  crowd,  is 
shoved  about  by  every  body,  his  clothes  torn,  almost  squeezed 
to  death,  and  sees  a  thousand  get  in  before  him,  that  don't 
make  so  good  a  figure  as  himself. 

I  don't  say  it  is  impossible  for  an  impudent  man  not  to  rise 
in  the  world  ;  but  a  moderate  merit,  with  a  large  share  of  im- 
pudence, is  more  probable  to  be  advanced,  than  the  greatest 
qualifications  without  it. 

If  this  letter  is  impertinent,  it  is  founded  upon  an  opinion 
of  your  merit,  which,  if  it  is  a  mistake,  I  would  not  be  unde- 
ceived ;  it  is  my  interest  to  believe  (as  I  do)  that  you  deserve 
every  thing,  and  are  capable  of  every  thing ;  but  nobody  else 
will  believe  it,  if  they  see  you  get  nothing. 


LETTER  XXVI. 

IT  14. 
?ou  do  me  wrong  in  imagining,  as  I  perceive  you  do,  that 
my  reasons  for  being  solicitous  for  your  having  that  place. 

3 


50  LETTERS      TO 

was  in  view  of  spending  more  money  than  we  do.  You  have 
no  cause  of  fancying  me  capable  of  such  a  thought.  I  don't 
doubt  but  Lord  Halifax  will  very  soon  have  the  staff,  and  it  is 
my  belief  you  will  not  be  at  all  the  richer  :  but  I  think  it 
looks  well,  and  may  facilitate  your  election ;  and  that  is  all 
the  advantage  I  hope  from  it.  When  all  your  intimate  ac- 
quaintance are  preferred,  I  think  you  would  have  an  ill  air  in 
having  nothing :  upon  that  account  only,  I  am  sorry  so  many 
considerable  places  are  disposed  of.  I  suppose,  now,  you  will 
certainly  be  chosen  somewhere  or  other ;  and  I  can  not  see 
why  you  should  not  pretend  to  be  Speaker.  I  believe  all  the 
Whigs  would  be  for  you,  and  I  fancy  you  have  a  considerable 
interest  among  the  Tories,  and  for  that  reason  would  be  very 
likely  to  carry  it.  'Tis  impossible  for  me  to  judge  of  this  so 
well  as  you  can  do  ;  but  the  reputation  of  being  thoroughly 
of  no  party  is,  I  think,  of  use  in  this  affair,  and  I  believe  people 
generally  esteem  you  impartial ;  and  being  chose  by  your  coun 
try  is  more  honorable  than  holding  any  place  from  any  king. 


LETTER  XXVII. 

No  date. 

I  hope  the  child  is  better  than  he  was,  but  I  wish  you 
would  let  Dr.  Garth  know  he  has  a  bigness  in  his  joints,  but 
not  much ;  his  ankles  seem  chiefly  to  have  a  weakness.  I 
should  be  very  glad  of  his  advice  upon  it,  and  whether  he 
approves  rubbing  them  with  spirits,  which  I  am  told  is  good 
for  him. 

I  hope  you  are  convinced  I  was  not  mistaken  in  my  judg- 
ment of  Lord  Pelham  ;  he  is  very  silly,  but  very  good-natured. 
I  don't  see  how  it  can  be  improper  for  you  to  get  it  represent- 
ed to  him  that  he  is  obliged  in  honor  to  get  you  chose  at  Ald- 
burgh,  and  may  more  easily  get  Mr.  Jessop  chose  at  another 
place.  I  can't  believe  but  you  may  manage  it  in  such  a  man- 
ner ;  Mr.  Jessop  himself  would  not  be  against  it,  nor  would  he 


EDWARD      WORTLEY     MONTAGU.  51 

have  so  much,  reason  to  take  it  ill,  if  he  should  not  be  chose, 
as  you  have  after  so  much  money  fruitlessly  spent.  I  dare 
say  you  may  order  it  so  that  it  may  be  so,  if  you  talk  to  Lord 
Townshend,  etc.  I  mention  this,  because  I  can  not  think  you 
can  stand  at  York,  or  any  where  else,  without  a  great  ex- 
pense. Lord  Morpeth  is  just  now  of  age,  but  I  know  not 
whether  he  '11  think  it  worth  while  to  return  from  travel  upon 
that  occasion.  Lord  Carlisle  is  in  town  ;  you  may,  if  you 
think  fit,  make  him  a  visit,  and  inquire  concerning  it.  After 
all,  I  look  upon  Aldburgh  to  be  the  surest  thing.  Lord 
Pelham*  is  easily  persuaded  to  any  thing,  and  I  am  sure  he 
may  be  told  by  Lord  Townshend  that  he  has  used  you  ill ; 
and  I  know  that  he  '11  be  desirous  to  do  all  things  in  his  power 
to  make  it  up.  In  my  opinion,  if  you  resolve  upon  an  extra- 
ordinary expense  to  be  in  Parliament,  you  should  resolve  to 
have  it  turn  to  some  account.  Your  father  is  very  surprising 
if  he  persists  in  standing  at  Huntingdon;  but  there  is  nothing 
surprising  in  such  a  world  as  this. 


LETTER  XXVIII. 

IT  14. 
Your  letter  very  much  vexed  me.  I  can  not  imagine  why 
you  should  doubt  being  the  better,  for  a  place  of  that  consid- 
eration, which  it  is  in  your  power  to  lay  down,  whenever  you 
dislike  the  measures  that  are  taken.  Supposing  the  com- 
mission lasts  but  a  short  time,  I  believe  those  that  have  acted 
in  it  will  have  the  offer  of  some  other  considerable  thing.  I 
am  perhaps  the  only  woman  in  the  world  that  would  dissuade 
her  husband  (if  he  were  inclined  to  it)  from  accepting  the 
greatest  place  in  England,  upon  the  condition  of  his  giving 
one  vote  disagreeing  with  his  principles  and  the  true  interest 
of  my  country ;  but  when  it  is  possible  to  be  of  service  to 

*  Lord  Pelham  was  soon  after  created  Duke  of  Newcastle,  and  was 
George  the  Second's  minister 


52  LETTERS      TO 

j  your  country  by  going  along  with  the  ministry,  I  know  not 
]  any  reason  for  declining  an  honorable  post.  The  world  never 
believes  it  possible  for  people  to  act  out  of  the  coinmon  tract; 
and  whoever  is  not  employed  by  the  public,  may  talk  what 
they  please  of  having  refused  or  slighted  great  offers ;  but 
they  are  always  looked  upon  either  as  neglected,  or  discon- 
tented because  their  pretensions  have  failed  ;  and  whatever 
efforts  they  make  against  the  court  are  thought  the  effect 
of  spleen  and  disappointment,  or  endeavors  to  get  something 
they  have  set  their  heart  on, — as  now  Sir  T.  H *  is  rep- 
resented, and  I  believe  truly,  as  aiming  at  beiug  secretary.  No 
man  can  make  a  better  figure  than  when  he  enjoys  a  consid- 
erable place.  Being  for  the  Place  Bill,  and  if  he  finds  the 
ministry  in  the  wrong,  withdrawing  from  them,  when  'tis  visi- 
ble that  he  might  still  keep  his  places,  if  he  had  not  chose  to 
keep  his  integrity.  I  have  sent  you  my  thoughts  of  places  in 
general,  I  solemnly  protest,  without  any  thought  of  any  par- 
ticular advantage  to  myself ;  and  if  I  were  your  friend,  and 
not  your  wife,  I  should  speak  in  the  same  manner,  which  I 
really  do  without  any  consideration  but  that  of  your  figure 
and  reputation,  which  are  a  thousand  times  dearer  to  me 
than  splendor,  money,  etc.  I  suppose  this  long  letter  might 
have  been  spared ;  for  your  resolution,  I  don't  doubt,  is 
already  taken. 


LETTER  XXIX. 

April. 

I  am  extremely  concerned  at  your  illness.  I  have  expected 
you  all  this  day,  and  supposed  you  would  be  here  by  this 
time,  if  you  had  set  out  Saturday  afternoon,  as  you  say  you 
intended.  I  hope  you  have  left  Wharncliffe ;  but,  however, 
will  continue  to  write  till  you  let  me  know  you  have  done  so. 
Dr.  Clarke  has  been  spoke  to,  and  excused  himself  from  reo- 

*  Sir  Thomas  Hanmer. 


EDWARD      WOBTLEY      MONTAGU.  53 

ommending  a  chaplain,  as  not  being  acquainted  with  many- 
orthodox  divines.  I  don't  doubt  you  know  the  death  of  Lord 
Sommers,  which  will  for  some  time  interrupt  my  commerce 
with  Lady  Jekyl.  I  have  heard  he  is  dead  without  a  will ; 
and  I  have  heard  he  has  made  young  Mr.  Cox  his  heir  :  I 
can  not  tell  which  account  is  the  truest.  I  beg  you  with  ;he 
greatest  earnestness  that  you  would  take  the  first  care  of  your 
health — there  can  be  nothing  worth  the  least  loss  of  it.  I 
shall  be,  sincerely,  very  uneasy  'till  I  hear  from  you  again ; 
but  I  am  not  without  hopes  of  seeing  you  to-morrow.  Your 
son  presents  his  duty  to  you,  and  improves  every  day  in  his 
conversation,  which  begins  to  be  very  entertaining  to  me.     I 

directed  a  letter  for  you  last  post  to  Mr.  B .     I  can  not 

conclude  without  once  (more)  recommending  to  you,  if  you 
have  any  sort  of  value  for  me,  to  take  care  of  yourself.  If 
there  be  any  thing  you  would  have  me  do,  pray  be  particular 
in  your  directions.  You  say  nothing  positive  about  the 
liveries.  Lord  B.'s  lace  is  silk,  with  very  little  silver  in  it,  but 
for  twenty  liveries  comes  to  £110.  Adieu  !  Pray  take  care 
of  your  health. 


LETTERS  TO   HER   SISTER  AND  FRIENDS 

DURING  THE  EMBASSY  OF  MR.    WORTLEY. 

FROM     1716     TO      1718. 


LETTER  I  * 

Rotterdam,  August  3,  0.  S.,  11 16. 

I  flatter  myself,  dear  sister,  that  I  shall  give  you  some 
pleasure  in  letting  you  know  that  I  have  safely  passed  the 
sea,  though  we  had  the  ill  fortune  of  a  storm.  We  were  per- 
suaded by  the  captain  of  the  yacht  to  set  out  in  a  calm,  and 
he  pretended  there  was  nothing  so  easy  as  to  tide  it  over ; 
but,  after  two  days  slowly  moving,  the  wind  blew  so  hard 
that  none  of  the  sailors  could  keep  their  feet,  and  we  were  all 
Sunday  night  tossed  very  handsomely.  I  never  saw  a  man 
more  frighted  than  the  captain. 

For  my  part,  I  have  been  so  lucky,  neither  to  suffer  from 
fear  nor  sea-sickness ;  though  I  confess  I  was  so  impatient 
to  see  myself  once  more  upon  dry  land  that  I  would  not 
stay  till  the  yacht  could  get  to  Rotterdam,  but  went  in  the 
long-boat  to  Helvoetsluys,  where  we  had  voitures  to  carry  us 
to  the  Brill. 

*  Lady  Frances  Pierrepont,  second  daughter  of  Evelyn,  first  Duke 
of  Kingston,  married  John  Erskine,  Earl  of  Mar,  who  was  Secretary 
of  State  for  Scotland  in  1105,  joined  the  Pretender  in  1115,  was  at- 
tainted in  1716,  and  died  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  in  1*732.  George  I. 
confirmed  to  Lady  Mar  the  jointure  on  Lord  Mar's  forfeited  estate  to 
which  she  was  entitled  by  her  marriage-settlement,  with  remainder 
to  her  daughter,  Lady  Frances  Erskine.  She  resided  many  years  at 
Paris. 


HER      SISTER      .V  S  D      FRIENDS.  55 

I  was  charmed  with  the  neatness  of  that  little  town ;  but 
my  arrival  at  Rotterdam  presented  me  a  new  scene  of  pleasure. 
All  the  streets  are  paved  with  broad  stones,  and  before  many 
of  the  meanest  artificers'  doors  are  placed  seats  of  variously- 
colored  marbles,  so  neatly  kept,  that  I  assure  you  I  walked 
almost  all  over  the  town  yesterday,  incognita,  in  my  slippers, 
without  receiving  one  spot  of  dirt ;  and  you  may  see  the 
Dutch  maids  washing  the  pavement  of  the  street  with  more 
application  than  ours  do  our  bed-chambers.  The  town  seems 
so  full  of  people,  with  such  busy  faces,  all  in  motion,  that  I 
can  hardly  fancy  it  is  not  some  celebrated  fair ;  but  I  see  it  is 
every  day  the  same.  'Tis  certain  no  town  can  be  more  ad- 
vantageously situated  for  commerce.  Here  are  seven  large 
canals,  on  which  the  merchants'  ships  come  up  to  the  very 
doors  of  their  houses.  The  shops  and  warehouses  are  of  a 
surprising  neatness  and  magnificence,  filled  with  an  incredible 
quantity  of  fine  merchandise,  and  so  much  cheaper  than  what 
we  see  in  England,  that  I  have  much  ado  to  persuade  myself 
I  am  still  so  near  it.  Here  is  neither  dirt  nor  beggary  to  be 
seen.  One  is  not  shocked  with  those  loathsome  cripples  so 
common  in  London,  nor  teased  with  the  importunity  of  idle 
fellows  and  wenches  that  choose  to  be  nasty  and  lazy.  The 
common  servants  and  little  shopwomen  here  are  more  nicely 
clean  than  most  of  our  ladies ;  and  the  great  variety  of  neat 
dresses  (every  woman  dressing  her  head  after  her  own  fash- 
ion) is  an  additional  pleasure  in  seeing  the  town. 

You  see  hitherto,  dear  sister,  I  make  no  complaints ;  and, 
if  I  continue  to  like  traveling  as  well  as  I  do  at  present,  I 
shall  not  repent  my  project.  It  will  go  a  great  way  in  making 
me  satisfied  with  it,  if  it  affords  me  an  opportunity  of  enter- 
taining you.  But  it  is  not  from  Holland  that  you  may  expect 
a  disinterested  offer.  I  can  write  enough  in  the  style  of 
Rotterdam  to  tell  you  plainly,  in  one  word,  that  I  expect  re- 
turns of  all  the  London  news.  You  see  I  have  already  learned 
to  make  a  good  bargain  ;  and  that  it  is  not  for  nothing  I  will 
so  much  as  tell  you  I  am  your  affectionate  sister. 


56  LETTERS      TO 

LETTER  n. 

Vienna,  September  8,  0.  S.,  1*716. 

I  am  now,  my  dear  sister,  safely  arrived  at  Vienna ;  and,  I 
thank  God,  have  not  at  all  suffered  in  my  health,  nor  (what  is 
dearer  to  me)  in  that  of  my  child*  by  all  our  fatigues. 

We  traveled  by  water  from  Ratisbon,  a  journey  perfectly 
agreeable,  down  the  Danube,  in  one  of  those  little  vessels 
that  they  very  properly  call  wooden  houses,  having  in  them 
all  the  conveniences  of  a  palace — stoves  in  the  chambers, 
kitchens,  etc.  They  are  rowed  by  twelve  men  each,  and  move 
with  such  incredible  swiftness  that  in  the  same  day  you  have 
the  pleasure  of  a  vast  variety  of  prospects ;  and,  within  the 
space  of  a  few  hours,  you  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a  pop- 
ulous city  adorned  with  magnificent  palaces,  and  the  most  ro- 
mantic solitudes,  which  appear  distant  from  the  commerce  of 
mankind,  the  banks  of  the  Danube  being  charmingly  diversi- 
fied with  woods,  rocks,  mountains  covered  with  vines,  fields 
of  corn,  large  cities,  and  ruins  of  ancient  castles.  I  saw  the 
great  towns  of  Passau  and  Lintz,  famous  for  the  retreat  of  the 
imperial  court  when  Vienna  was  besieged. 

This  town,  which  has  the  honor  of  being  the  emperor's  resi- 
dence, did  not  at  all  answer  my  ideas  of  it,  being  much  less 
than  I  expected  to  find  it :  the  streets  are  very  close,  and  so 
narrow,  one  can  not  observe  the  fine  fronts  of  the  palaces, 
though  many  of  them  very  well  deserve  observation,  being 
truly  magnificent.  They  are  built  of  fine  white  stone,  and  are 
excessively  high.  For  as  the  town  is  too  little  for  the  number 
of  the  people  that  desire  to  live  in  it,  the  builders  seem  to 
have  projected  to  repair  that  misfortune  by  clapping  one  town 
on  the  top  of  another,  most  of  the  houses  being  of  five,  and 
some  of  them  six  stories.  You  may  easily  imagine  that  the 
streets  being  so  narrow,  the  rooms  are  extremely  dark ;  and, 
what  is  an  inconvenience  much  more  intolerable,  in  my  opin- 
ion, there  is  no  house  that  has  so  few  as  five  or  six  families  in 

*  Edward  "Wortley  Montagu,  her  only  son,  was  born  1*713. 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  57 

it.  The  apartments  of  the  greatest  ladies,  and  even  of  the 
ministers  of  state,  are  divided,  but  by  a  partition,  from  that 
of  a  tailor  or  shoemaker  ;  and  I  know  nobody  that  has  above 
two  floors  in  any  house — one  for  their  own  use,  and  one 
higher  for  their  servants.  Those  that  have  houses  of  their 
own,  let  out  the  rest  of  them  to  whoever  will  take  them  ;  and 
thus  the  great  stairs  (which  are  all  of  stone)  are  as  common 
and  as  dirty  as  the  street.  'Tis  true,  when  you  have  once 
traveled  through  them,  nothing  can  be  more  surprisingly 
magnificent  than  the  apartments.  They  are  commonly  a  suit 
of  eight  or  ten  large  rooms,  all  inlaid,  the  doors  and  windows 
ricljly  carved  and  gilt,  and  the  furniture  such  as  is  seldom 
seen  in  the  palaces  of  sovereign  princes  in  other  countries. 
Their  apartments  are  adorned  with  hangings  of  the  finest 
tapestry  of  Brussels,  prodigious  large  looking-glasses  in  silver 
frames,  fine  japan  tables,  beds,  chairs,  canopies,  and  window- 
curtains  of  the  richest  Genoa  damask  or  velvet,  almost  cov- 
ered with  gold  lace  or  embroidery.  The  whole  is  made  gay 
by  pictures,  and  vast  jars  of  Japan  china,  and  in  almost  every 
room  large  lusters  of  rock  crystal. 

I  have  already  had  the  honor  of  being  invited  to  dinner  by 
several  of  the  first  people  of  quality  ;  and  I  must  do  them  the 
justice  to  say,  the  good  taste  and  magnificence  of  their  tables 
very  well  answered  to  that  of  their  furniture.  I  have  been 
more  than  once  entertained  with  fifty  dishes  of  meat  all  served 
in  silver,  and  well  dressed  ;  the  dessert  proportionable,  served 
in  the  finest  china.  But  the  variety  and  richness  of  their 
wines  is  what  appears  the  most  surprising.  The  constant  way 
is,  to  lay  a  list  of  their  names  upon  the  plates  of  the  guests, 
along  with  the  napkins  ;  and  I  have  counted  several  times  to  the 
number  of  eighteen  different  sorts,  all  exquisite  in  their  kinds. 

T  was  yesterday  at  Count  Schcenbrunn,*  the  vice-chan- 

*  The  palace  of  Schcenbrunn  is  distant  about  two  miles  from  Yienna. 
It  was  designed  by  John  Bernard  Fischers,  the  Palladio  of  Germany, 
in  1696,  and  was  afterward  used  as  a  hunting-seat  by  the  emperor  and 
his  court. 

3* 


58  LETTERS     TO 

cellor's  garden,  where  I  was  invited  to  dinner.  I  must  own  I 
never  saw  a  place  so  perfectly  delightful  as  the  faubourg  of 
Vienna.  It  is  very  large,  and  almost  wholly  composed  of  de- 
licious palaces.  If  the  emperor  found  it  proper  to  permit  the 
gates  of  the  town  to  be  laid  open,  that  the  faubourg  might 
be  joined  to  it,  he  would  have  one  of  the  largest  and  best 
built  cities  in  Europe.  Count  Schcenbrunn's  villa  is  one  of  the 
most  magnificent ;  the  furniture  all  rich  brocades,  so  well  fan- 
cied and  fitted  up,  nothing  can  look  more  gay  and  splendid  ; 
not  to  speak  of  a  gallery,  full  of  rarities  of  coral,  mother-of- 
pearl,  etc.,  and,  throughout  the  whole  house,  a  profusion  of 
gilding,  carving,  fine  paintings,  the  most  beautiful  porcelain, 
statues  of  alabaster  and  ivory,  and  vast  orange  and  lemon- 
trees  in  gilt  pots.  The  dinner  was  perfectly  fine  and  well 
ordered,  and  made  still  more  agreeable  by  the  good-humor  of 
the  count. 


LETTER  III. 

Prague,  November  17,  0.  S.,  1116. 

I  hope  my  dear  sister  wants  no  new  proofs  of  my  sincere 
affection  for  her  :  but  I  am  sure,  if  you  do,  I  could  not  give 
you  a  stronger  than  writing  at  this  time,  after  three  days,  or, 
more  properly  speaking,  three  nights  and  days,  hard  post- 
traveling. 

The  kingdom  of  Bohemia  is  the  most  desert  of  any  I  have 
seen  in  Germany.  The  villages  are  so  poor,  and  the  post- 
houses  so  miserable,  that  clean  straw  and  fair  water  are  bless- 
ings not  always  to  be  met  with,  and  better  accommodation  not 
to  be  hoped  for.  Though  I  carried  my  own  bed  with  me,  I 
could  not  sometimes  find  a  place  to  set  it  up  in  ;  and  I  rather 
chose  to  travel  all  night,  as  cold  as  it  is,  wrapped  up  in  my 
furs,  than  to  go  into  the  common  stoves,  which  are  filled  with 
a  mixture  of  all  sorts  of  ill  scents. 

This  town  was  once  the  royal  seat  of  the  Bohemian  kings, 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  59 

and  is  still  the  capital  of  the  kingdom.  There  are  yet  some 
remains  of  its  former  splendor,  being  one  of  the  largest  towns 
in  Germany,  but,  for  the  most  part,  old  built,  and  thinly  inhab- 
ited, which  makes  the  houses  very  cheap.  Those  people  of 
quality  who  can  not  easily  bear  the  expense  of  Vienna,  choose 
to  reside  here,  where  they  have  assemblies,  music,  and  all 
other  diversions  (those  of  a  court  excepted),  at  very  moderate 
rates,  all  things  being  here  in  great  abundance,  especially  the 
best  wild-fowl  I  ever  tasted.  I  have  already  been  visited  by 
some  of  the  most  considerable  ladies,  whose  relations  I  know 
at  Vienna.  They  are  dressed  after  the  fashions  there,  after 
the  manner  that  the  people  at  Exeter  imitate  those  of  London : 
that  is,  their  imitation  is  more  excessive  than  the  original. 
'Tis  not  easy  to  describe  what  extraordinary  figures  they  make. 
The  person  is  so  much  lost  between  head-dress  and  petticoat, 
that  they  have  as  much  occasion  to  write  upon  their  backs, 
" This  is  a  Woman"  for  the  information  of  travelers,  as  ever 
sign-post  painter  had  to  write,  "  This  is  a  Bear.11 


LETTER  IV. 

Vienna,  January  16,  0.  S.,  1*111. 

I  am  now,  dear  sister,  to  take  leave  of  you  for. a  long  time, 
and  of  Vienna  forever ;  designing  to-morrow  to  begin  my 
journey  through  Hungary,  in  spite  of  the  excessive  cold  and 
deep  snows,  which  are  enough  to  damp  a  greater  courage 
than  I  am  mistress  of.  But  my  principles  of  passive  obedience 
carry  me  through  every  thing. 

I  have  had  my  audience  of  leave  of  the  empress.  His  im- 
perial majesty  was  pleased  to  be  present  when  I  waited  on  the 
reigning  empress ;  and  after  a  very  obliging  conversation,  both 
their  imperial  majesties  invited  me  to  take  Vienna  in  my  road 
back ;  but  I  have  no  thoughts  of  enduring,  over  again,  so 
great  a  fatigue.  I  delivered  a  letter  from  the  Duchess  of 
Blankenburg.     I  staid  but  a  few  days  at  that  court,  though 


60  LETTERS      TO 

her  highness  pressed  me  very  much  to  stay  ;  and  when  I  left 
her,  engaged  me  to  write  to  her. 

I  wrote  you  a  long  letter  from  thence,  which  I  hope  you  have 
received,  though  you  don't  mention  it ;  but  I  believe  I  forgot 
to  tell  you  one  curiosity  in  all  the  German  courts,  which  I  can 
not  forbear  taking  notice  of:  all  the  princes  keep  favorite 
dwarfs.  The  emperor  and  empress  keep  two  of  these  little 
monsters,  as  ugly  as  devils,  especially  the  '  female  ;  but  they 
are  all  bedaubed  with  diamonds,  and  stand  at  her  majesty's 
elbow,  in  all  public  places.  The  Duke  of  Wolfenbuttle  has 
one,  and  the  Duchess  of  Blankenburg  is  not  without  hers,  but 
indeed  the  most  proportionable  I  ever  saw.  I  am  told  the 
King  of  Denmark  has  so  far  improved  upon  this  fashion,  that 
his  dwarf  is  his  chief  minister.  I  can  assign  no  reason  for 
their  fondness  for  these  pieces  of  deformity,  but  the  opinion 
all  the  absolute  princes  have,  that  it  is  below  them  to  converse 
with  the  rest  of  mankind  ;  and,  not  to  be  quite  alone,  they 
are  forced  to  seek  their  companions  among  the  refuse  of  hu- 
man nature,  these  creatures  being  the  only  part  of  their  court 
privileged  to  talk  freely  to  them. 

I  am  at  present  confined  to  my  chamber  by  a  sore  throat ; 
and  am  really  glad  of  the  excuse,  to  avoid  seeing  people  that 
I  love  well  enough  to  be  very  much  mortified  when  I  think  I 
am  going  to  part  with  them  forever.  It  is  true,  the  Austrians 
are  not  commonly  the  most  polite  people  in  the  world,  nor  the 
most  agreeable.  But  Vienna  is  inhabited  by  all  nations,  and 
I  had  formed  to  myself  a  little  society  of  such  as  were  per- 
fectly to  my  own  taste.  And  though  the  number  was  not 
very  great,  I  could  uever  pick  up,  in  any  other  place,  such  a 
number  of  reasonable,  agreeable  people.  We  were  almost 
always  together,  and  you  know  I  have  ever  been  of  opinion 
that  a  chosen  conversation,  composed  of  a  few  that  one  es- 
teems, is  the  greatest  happiness  of  life. 

Here  are  some  Spaniards  of  both  sexes,  that  have  all  the 
vivacity  and  generosity  of  sentiments  anciently  ascribed  to 
their  nation  ;  and  could  I  believe  that  the  whole  kingdom 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  61 

were  like  them,  I  would  wish  nothing  more  than  to  end  my 
days  there.  The  ladies  of  my  acquaintance  have  so  much 
goodness  for  me,  they  cry  whenever  they  see  me,  since  I  have 
determined  to  undertake  this  journey.  And,  indeed,  I  am  not 
very  easy  when  I  reflect  on  what  I  am  going  to  suffer.  Almost 
every  body  I  see  frights  me  with  some  new  difficulty.  Prince 
Eugene  has  been  so  good  as  to  say  all  the-  things  he  could  to 
persuade  me  to  stay  till  the  Danube  is  thawed,  that  I  may 
have  the  conveniency  of  going  by  water ;  assuring  me  that 
the  houses  in  Hungary  are  such  as  are  no  defense  against  the 
weather-;  and  that  I  shall  be  obliged  to  travel  three  or  four 
days  between  Buda  and  Essek,  without  finding  any  house  at 
all,  through  desert  plains  covered  with  snow ;  where  the  cold 
is  so  violent,  many  have  been  killed  by  it.  I  own  these  ter- 
rors have  made  a  very  deep  impression  on  my  mind,  because 
I  believe  he  tells  me  things  truly  as  they  are,  and  nobody  can 
be  better  informed  of  them. 

Now  I  have  named  that  great  man,  I  am  sure  you  expect  I 
should  say  something  particular  of  him,  having  the  advantage 
of  seeing  him  very  often  ;  but  I  am  as  unwilling  to  speak  of 
him  at  Vienna  as  I  should  be  to  talk  of  Hercules  in  the  court 
of  Omphale,  if  I  had  seen  him  there.  I  don't  know  what  com- 
fort other  people  find  in  considering  the  weakness  of  great 
men  (because,  perhaps,  it  brings  them  nearer  to  their  level), 
but  'tis  always  a  mortification  to  me  to  observe  that  there  is 
no  perfection  in  humanity.  The  young  Prince  of  Portugal  is 
the  admiration  of  the  whole  court ;  he  is  handsome  and  po- 
lite, with  a  great  vivacity.  All  the  officers  tell  wonders  of  his 
gallantry  the  last  campaign.  He  is  lodged  at  court  with  all 
the  honors  due  to  his  rank.  Adieu,  dear  sister  :  this  is  the 
last  account  you  will  have  from  me  of  Vienna.  If  I  survive 
my  journey,  you  shall  hear  from  me  again.  I  can  say  with 
great  truth,  in  the  words  of  Moneses,  /  have  long  learned  to 
hold  myself  as  nothing ;  but  when  I  think  of  the  fatigue  my 
poor  infant  must  suffer,  I  have  all  a  mother's  fondness  in  my 
eyes,  and  all  her  tender  passions  in  my  heart. 


62  LETTERS      TO 

P.S. — I  have  written  a  letter  to  my  Lady that  I  be- 
lieve she  won't  like ;  and,  upon  cooler  reflection,  I  think  I  had 
done  better  to  have  let  it  alone  ;  but  I  was  downright  peevish 
at  all  her  questions,  and  her  ridiculous  imagination  that  I  have 
certainly  seen  abundance  of  wonders  which  I  keep  to  myself 
out  of  mere  malice.  She  is  very  angry  that  I  won't  lie  like 
other  travelers.  I  verily  believe  she  expects  I  should  tell  her 
of  the  Anthropophagi,  men  whose  heads  grow  below  theii 
shoulders :  however,  pray  say  something  to  pacify  her. 


LETTER  V. 

Peterwaradin,  Jan.  30,  0.  S.,  llll. 

At  length,  dear  sister,  I  am  safely  arrived,  with  all  my  fam- 
ily, in  good  health,  at  Peterwaradin  ;  having  suffered  so  little 
from  the  rigor  of  the  season  (against  which  we  were  well  pro- 
vided by  furs),  and  found  such  tolerable  accommodation  every 
where,  by  the  care  of  sending  before,  that  I  can  hardly  forbear 
laughing,  when  I  recollect  all  the  frightful  ideas  that  were 
given  me  of  this  journey.  These,  I  see,  were  wholly  owing  to 
the  tenderness  of  my  Vienna  friends,  and  their  desire  of  keep- 
ing me  with  them  for  this  winter. 

Perhaps  it  will  not  be  disagreeable  to  you  to  give  a  short 
journal  of  my  journey,  being  through  a  country  entirely  un- 
known to  you,  and  very  little  passed,  even  by  the  Hungarians 
themselves,  who  generally  choose  to  take  the  conveniency  of 
going  down  the  Danube.  We  have  had  the  blessing  of  being 
favored  with  finer  weather  than  is  common  at  this  time  of  the 
year ;  though  the  snow  was  so  deep  we  were  obliged  to  have 
our  own  coaches  fixed  upon  traineaus,  which  move  so  swift 
and  so  easily,  'tis  by  far  the  most  agreeable  manner  of  travel- 
ing post.  We  came  to  Raab  (the  second  day  from  Vienna) 
on  the  seventeenth  instant,  where  Mr.  Wortley  sending  word 
of  our  arrival  to  the  governor,  the  best  house  in  the  town  was 
provided  for  us,  the  garrison  put  under  arms,  a  guard  ordered 


HER     SISTER     AND      FRIENDS.  63 

at  our  door,  and  all  other  honors  paid  to  us.  The  governor, 
and  all  other  officers,  immediately  waited  on  Mr.  Wortley,  to 
know  if  there  was  any  thing  to  be  done  for  his  service.  The 
Bishop  of  Temeswar  came  to  visit  us,  with  great  civility,  earn- 
estly pressing  us  to  dine  with  him  next  day  ;  which  we  refus- 
ing, as  being  resolved  to  pursue  our  journey,  he  sent  us  several 
baskets  of  winter  fruit,  and  a  great  variety  of  Hungarian 
wines,  with  a  young  hind  just  killed.  This  is  a  prelate  of 
great  power  in  this  country,  of  the  ancient  family  of  Nadasty, 
so  considerable  for  many  ages  in  this  kingdom.  He  is  a  very 
polite,  agreeable,  cheerful  old  man,  wearing  the  Hungarian 
habit,  with  a  venerable  white  beard  down  to  his  girdle. 

Raab  is  a  strong  town,  well  garrisoned  and  fortified,  and 
was  a  long  time  the  frontier  town  between  the  Turkish  and 
German  empires.  It  has  its  name  from  the  river  Rab,  on 
which  it  is  situated,  just  on  its  meeting  with  the  Danube,  in 
an  open  champaign  country.  It  was  first  taken  by  the  Turks, 
under  the  command  of  Pasha  Sinan,  in  the  reign  of  Sultan 
Amurath  III.,  in  the  year  fifteen  hundred  and  ninety-four. 
The  governor,  being  supposed  to  have  betrayed  it,  was  after- 
ward beheaded  by  the  emperor's  command.  The  Counts  of 
Swartzenburg  and  Palfi  retook  it  by  surprise,  1598  ;  since 
which  time  it  has  remained  in  the  hands  of  the  Germans, 
though  the  Turks  once  more  attempted  to  gain  it  by  strata- 
gem in  1642.  The  cathedral  is  large  and  well  built,  which  is 
all  I  saw  remarkable  in  the  town. 

Leaving  Comora  on  the  other  side  the  river,  we  went  the 
eighteenth  to  Nosmuhl,  a  small  village,  where,  however,  we 
made  shift  to  find  tolerable  accommodation.  We  continued 
two  days  traveling  between  this  place  and  Buda,  through  the 
finest  plains  in  the  world,  as  even  as  if  they  were  paved,  and 
extremely  fruitful ;  but  for  the  most  part  desert  and  unculti- 
vated, laid  waste  by  the  long  wars  between  the  Turk  and  the 
emperor,  and  the  more  cruel  civil  war  occasioned  by  the 
barbarous  persecution  of  the  Protestant  religion  by  the  Em- 
peror Leopold.    That  prince  has  left  behind  him  the  character 


64  LETTERS      TO 

of  an  extraordinary  piety,  and  was  naturally  of  a  mild,  mer- 
ciful temper  ;  but,  putting  his  conscience  into  the  hands  of  a 
Jesuit,  he  was  more  cruel  and  treacherous  to  his  poor  Hun- 
garian subjects  than  ever  the  Turk  has  been  to  the  Christians  ; 
breaking,  without  scruple,  his  coronation  oath,  and  his  faith, 
solemnly  given  in  many  public  treaties.  Indeed,  nothing  can 
be  more  melancholy  than,  in  traveling  through  Hungary,  to 
reflect  on  the  former  flourishing  state  of  that  kingdom,  and  to 
see  such  a  noble  spot  of  earth  almost  uninhabited.  Such  are 
also  the  present  circumstances  of  Buda  (where  we  arrived 
very  early  the  twenty-second),  once  the  royal  seat  of  the  Hun- 
garian kings,  whose  palace  was  reckoned  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  buildings  of  the  age,  now  wholly  destroyed,  no  part 
of  the  town  having  been  repaired  since  the  last  siege,  but  the 
fortifications  and  the  castle,  which  is  the  present  residence  of 
the  Governor-general  Ragule,  an  officer  of  great  merit.  He 
came  immediately  to  see  us,  and  carried  us  in  his  coach  to 
his  house,  where  I  was  received  by  his  lady  with  all  possible 
civility,  and  magnificently  entertained. 

This  city  is  situated  upon  a  little  hill  on  the  south  side  of 
the  Danube.  The  castle  is  much  higher  than  the  town,  and 
from  it  the  prospect  is  very  noble.  Without  the  walls  lie  a 
vast  number  of  little  houses,  or  rather  huts,  that  they  call  the 
Rascian  town,  being  altogether  inhabited  by  that  people.  The 
governor  assured  me  it  would  furnish  twelve  thousand  fighting 
men.  These  towns  look  very  odd :  their  houses  stand  in  rows, 
many  thousands  of  them  so  close  together  that  they  appear, 
at  a  little  distance,  like  old-fashioned  thatched  tents.  They 
consist,  every  one  of  them,  of  one  hovel  above,  and  another 
under  ground ;  these  are  their  summer  and  winter  apartments. 
Buda  was  first  taken  by  Solyman  the  Magnificent,  in  1526, 
and  lost  the  following  year  to  Ferdinand  L,  King  of  Bohemia. 
Solyman  regained  it  by  the  treachery  of  the  garrison,  and 
voluntarily  gave  it  into  the  hands  of  King  John  of  Hungary  ; 
after  whose  death,  his  son  being  an  infant,  Ferdinand  laid 
siege  to  it,  and  the  queen-mother  was  forced  to  call  Solyman 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  65 

to  her  aid.  He  indeed  raised  the  siege,  but  left  a  Turkish 
garrison  in  the  town,  and  commanded  her  to  remove  her 
court  from  thence,  which  she  was  forced  to  submit  to,  in 
1541.  It  resisted  afterward  the  sieges  laid  to  it  by  the  Mar- 
quis of  Brandenburg,  in  the  year  1542  ;  Count  Swartzenburg, 
in  1598  ;  General  Eosworm,  in  1602  ;  and  the  Duke  of  Lor- 
rain,  commander  of  the  emperor's  forces,  in  1684,  to  whom 
it  yielded,  in  1686,  after  an  obstinate  defense;  Apti  Bassa, 
the  governor,  being  killed,  fighting  in  the  breach  with  a 
Roman  bravery.  The  loss  of  this  town  was  so  important, 
and  so  much  resented  by  the  Turks,  that  it  occasioned  the 
deposing  of  their  emperor,  Mohammed  IV.,  the  year  fol- 
lowing. 

We  did  not  proceed  on  our  journey  till  the  twenty-third, 
when  we  passed  through  Adam  and  Todowar,  both  consider- 
able towns  when  in  the  hands  of  the  Turks,  but  now  quite 
ruined.  The  remains,  however,  of  some  Turkish  towns  show 
something  of  what  they  have  been.  This  part  of  the  country 
is  very  much  overgrown  with  wood,  and  little  frequented. 
'Tis  incredible  what  vast  numbers  of  wild-fowl  we  saw,  which 
often  live  here  to  a  good  old  age — and,  undisturbed  by  guns, 
in  quiet  sleep.  We  came  the  five-and-twentieth  to  Mohatch, 
and  were  shown  the  field  near  it,  where  Lewis,  the  young 
King  of  Hungary,  lost  his  army  and  his  life,  being  drowned 
in  a  ditch,  trying  to  fly  from  Balybeus,  general  of  Solyman 
the  Magnificent.  This  battle  opened  the  first  passage  for  the 
Turks  into  the  heart  of  Hungary.  I  don't  name  to  you  the 
little  villages,  of  which  I  can  say  nothing  remarkable ;  but 
I  '11  assure  you,  I  have  always  found  a  warm  stove,  and  great 
plenty,  particularly  of  wild  boar,  venison,  and  all  kinds  of 
gibier.  The  few  people  that  inhabit  Hungary  live  easily 
enough  ;  they  have  no  money,  but  the  woods  and  plains 
afford  them  provision  in  great  abundance  :  they  were  ordered 
to  give  us  all  things  necessary,  even  what  horses  we  pleased 
to  demand,  gratis  ;  but  Mr.  Wortley  would  not  oppress  the 
poor  country  people,  by  making  use  of  this  order,  and  always 


66  LETTER  S      TO 

paid  them  to  the  full  worth  of  what  he  had.  They  were  so 
surprised  at  this  unexpected  generosity,  which  they  are  very 
little  used  to,  that  they  always  pressed  upon  us,  at  parting,  a 
dozen  of  fat  pheasants,  or  something  of  that  sort,  for  a  pres- 
ent. Their  dress  is  very  primitive,  being  only  a  plain  sheep's 
skin,  and  a  cap  and  boots  of  the  same  stuff.  You  may  easily 
imagine  this  lasts  them  many  winters ;  and  thus  they  have 
very  little  occasion  for  money. 

The  twenty-sixth,  we  passed  over  the  frozen  Danube,  with 
all  our  equipage  and  carriages.  We  met  on  the  other  side 
General  Veterani,  who  invited  us,  with  great  civility,  to  pass 
the  night  at  a  little  castle  of  his,  a  few  miles  off,  assuring  us 
we  should  have  a  very  hard  day's  journey  to  reach  Essek. 
This  we  found  but  too  true,  the  woods  being  very  dangerous, 
and  scarcely  passable,  from  the  vast  quantity  of  wolves  that 
hoard  in  them.  We  came,  however,  safe,  though  late,  to 
Essek,  where  we  staid  a  day,  to  dispatch  a  courier  with  let- 
ters to  the  Pasha  of  Belgrade  ;  and  I  took  that  opportunity 
of  seeing  the  town,  which  is  not  very  large,  but  fair  built,  and 
well  fortified.  This  was  a  town  of  great  trade,  very  rich  and 
populous,  when  in  the  hands  of  the  Turks.  It  is  situated  on 
the  Drave,  which  runs  into  the  Danube.  The  bridge  was  es- 
teemed one  of  the  most  extraordinary  in  the  world,  being 
eight  thousand  paces  long,  and  all  built  of  oak.  It  was  burned 
and  the  city  laid  in  ashes  by  Count  Lesly,  1685,  but  was  again 
repaired  and  fortified  by  the  Turks,  who,  however,  abandoned 
it  in  1687.  General  Dunnewalt  then  took  possession  of  it  for 
the  emperor,  in  whose  hands  it  has  remained  ever  since,  and 
is  esteemed  one  of  the  bulwarks  of  Hungary. 

The  twenty-eighth  we  went  to  Bocorwar,  a  very  large  Ras- 
cian  town,  all  built  after  the  manner  I  have  described  to  you. 

We  were  met  there  by  Colonel ,  who  would  not  suffer 

us  to  go  any  where  but  to  his  quarters,  where  I  found  his 
wife,  a  very  agreeable  Hungarian  lady,  and  his  niece  and 
daughter,  two  pretty  young  women,  crowded  into  three  or 
four  Rascian  houses  cast  into  one,  and  made  as  neat  and  con- 


HER      S  I  S  T  E  II      AND      FRIENDS.  67 

venient  as  those  places  are  capable  of  being  made.  The 
Hungarian  ladies  are  much  handsomer  than  those  of  Austria. 
All  the  Vienna  beauties  are  of  that  country  ;  they  are  gener- 
ally very  fair  and  well-shaped,  and  their  dress,  I  think,  is  ex- 
tremely becoming.  This  lady  was  in  a  gown  of  scarlet  velvet, 
lined  and  faced  with  sables,  made  exact  to  her  shape,  and  the 
skirt  falling  to  her  feet.  The  sleeves  are  strait  to  their  arms, 
and  the  stays  buttoned  before,  with  two  rows  of  little  but- 
tons of  gold,  pearl,  or  diamonds.  On  their  heads  they  wear 
a  tassel  of  gold,  that  hangs  low  on  one  side,  lined  with  sable, 
or  some  other  fine  fur.  They  gave  us  a  handsome  dinner,  and 
I  thought  the  conversation  very  polite  and  agreeable.  They  - 
would  accompany  us  part  of  our  way. 

The  twenty-ninth  we  arrived  here,  where  we  were  met  by 
the  commanding  officer,  at  the  head  of  all  the  officers  of  the 
garrison.  We  are  lodged  in  the  best  apartment  of  the  govern- 
or's house,  and  entertained  in  a  very  splendid  manner  by  the 
emperor's  order.  We  wait  here  till  all  points  are  adjusted 
concerning  our  reception  on  the  Turkish  frontiers.  Mr.  Wort- 
ley's  courier,  which  he  sent  from  Essek,  returned  this  morn- 
ing, with  the  pasha's  answer  in  a  purse  of  scarlet  satin,  which 
the  interpreter  here  has  translated.  It  is  to  promise  him  to  be 
honorably  received.  I  desired  him  to  appoint  where  he  would 
be  met  by  the  Turkish  convoy.  He  has  dispatched  the  courier 
back,  naming  Betsko,  a  village  in  the  midway  between  Peter- 
waradin  and  Belgrade.  We  shall  stay  here  till  we  receive  his 
answer. 

Thus,  dear  sister,  I  have  given  you  a  very  particular,  and,  I 
am  afraid  you  '11  think,  a  tedious,  account  of  this  part  of  my 
travels.  It  was  not  an  affectation  of  showing  my  reading 
that  has  made  me  tell  you  some  little  scraps  of  the  history  of 
the  towns  I  have  passed  through  :  I  have  always  avoided  any 
thing  of  that  kind,  when  I  spoke  of  places  that  I  believe  you 
knew  the  story  of  as  well  as  myself.  But  Hungary  being  a 
part  of  the  world  which,  I  believe,  is  quite  new  to  you,  I 
thought  you  might  read  with  some  pleasure  an  account  of  it, 


68  LETTERS      TO 

which  I  have  been  very  solicitous  to  get  from  the  best  hands. 
However,  if  you  don't  like  it,  'tis  in  your  power  to  .forbear 
reading  it. 

I  am  promised  to  have  this  letter  carefully  sent  to  Vienna. 


LETTER  VI. 

Adrianople,  April  1,  0.  S.  1T1T. 

I  am  now  got  into  a  new  world,  where  every  thing  I  see 
appears  to  me  a  change  of  scene  ;  and  I  write  to  your  lady- 
ship with  some  content  of  mind,  hoping,  at  least,  that  you 
will  find  the  charms  of  novelty  in  my  letters,  and  no  longer 
reproach  me  that  I  tell  you  nothing  extraordinary. 

I  won't  trouble  you-  with  a  relation  of  our  tedious  journey ; 
but  must  not  omit  what  I  saw  remarkable  at  Sophia,  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  towns  in  the  Turkish  empire,  and  famous 
for  its  hot  baths,  that  are  resorted  to  both  for  diversion  and 
health.  I  stopped  here  one  day,  on  purpose  to  see  them ;  and 
designing  to  go  incognita,  I  hired  a  Turkish  coach.  These 
voitures  are  not  at  all  like  ours,  but  much  more  convenient  for 
the  country,  the  heat  being  so  great  that  glasses  would  be 
very  troublesome.  They  are  made  a  good  deal  in  the  man 
ner  of  the  Dutch  stage-coaches,  having  wooden  lattices  painted 
and  gilded ;  the  inside  being  also  painted  with  baskets  and 
nosegays  of  flowers,  intermixed  commonly  with  little  poetical 
mottos.  They  are  covered  all  over  with  scarlet  cloth,  lined 
with  silk,  and  very  often  richly  embroidered  and  fringed. 
This  covering  entirely  hides  the  persons  in  them,  but  may  be 
thrown  back  at  pleasure,  and  thus  permits  the  ladies  to  peep 
through  the  lattices.  They  hold  four  people  very  conveniently, 
seated  on  cushions,  but  not  raised. 

In  one  of  these  covered  wagons  I  went  to  the  bagnio  about 
ten  o'clock.  It  was  already  full  of  women.  It  is  built  of 
stone,  in' the  shape  of  a  dome,  with  no  windows  but  in  the 
roof,  which  gives  light  enough.     There  were  five   of  these 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  69 

domes  joined  together,  the  outmost  being  less  than  the  rest, 
and  serving  only  as  a  hall,  where  the  portress  stood  at  the 
door.  Ladies  of  quality  generally  give  this  woman  a  crown 
or  ten  shillings ;  and  I  did  not  forget  that  ceremony.  The 
next  room  is  a  very  large  one,  paved  with  marble,  and  all 
round  it  are  two  raised  sofas  of  marble,  one  above  another. 
There  were  four  fountains  of  cold  water  in  this  room,  falling 
first  into  marble  basins,  and  then  running  on  the  floor  in  lit- 
tle channels  made  for  that  purpose,  which  carried  the  streams 
into  the  next  room,  something  less  than  this,  with  the  same 
sort  of  marble  sofas,  but  so  hot  with  steams  of  sulphur  pro- 
ceeding from  the  baths  joining  to  it,  it  was  impossible  to 
stay  there  with  one's  clothes  on.  The  two  other  domes  were 
the  hot  baths,  one  of  which  had  cocks  of  cold  water  turning 
into  it,  to  temper  it  to  what  degree  of  warmth  the  bathers 
pleased  to  have. 

I  was  in  my  traveling-habit,  which  is  a  riding-dress,  and 
certainly  appeared  very  extraordinary  to  them.     Yet  there  / 
was  not  one  of  them  that  showed   the  least  surprise  or  im-  [ 
pertinent  curiosity,  but  received  me  with  all  the  obliging  civ-  : 
ility  possible.     I  know  no  European  court  where  the  ladies 
would  have  behaved  themselves  in  so  polite  a  manner  to  such 
a  stranger.     I  believe,  upon  the  whole,  there  were  two  hun- 
dred women,  and  yet  none  of  those  disdainful  smiles,  and 
satirical  whispers,  that  never  fail  in  our  assemblies,  when  any  | 
body  appears  that  is  hot  dressed  exactly  in  the  fashion.    They 
repeated  over  and  over  to  me — "  Guzel,  pek  guzel,"  which  is 
nothing  but  Charming,  very  charming.     The  first  sofas  were 
covered  with  cushions  and  rich  carpets*  on  which  sat  the  la- 
dies ;  and  on  the  second  their  slaves,  behind  them,  but  with- 
out any  distinction   of  rank  by  their  dress,  all  being  in  the 
state  of  nature,  that  is,  in  plain  English,  stark  naked,  without 
any  beauty  or  defect  concealed.     Yet  there  was  not  the  least 
wanton  smile  or  immodest  gesture  among  them.    They  walked 
and    moved  with    the    same,  majestic  grace  which   Miltoi 
describes  our  general  mother  with.     There  were  many  among 


70  LETTERS      TO 

them  as  exactly  proportioned  as  ever  any  goddess  was  drawn 
by  the  pencil  of  a  Guido  or  Titian,  and  most  of  their  skins 
shining]y  white,  only  adorned  by  their  beautiful  hair,  divided 
into  many  tresses,  hanging  on  their  shoulders,  braided  either  with 
pearl  or  ribbon,  perfectly  representing  the  figures  of  the  Graces. 
I  was  here  convinced  of  the  truth  of  a  reflection  I  have 
often  made,  That  if  it  were  the  fashion  to  go  naked,  the  face 
would  be  hardly  observed.  I  perceived  that  the  ladies  of  the 
most  delicate  skins  and  finest  shapes  had  the  greatest  share 
of  my  admiration,  though  their  faces  were  sometimes  less 
beautiful  than  those  of  their  companions.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  had  wickedness  enough  to  wish  secretly  that  Mr. 
Jervas*  could  have  been  there  invisible.  I  fancy  it  would 
have  very  much  improved  his  art,  to  see  so  many  fine  women 
naked,  in  different  postures,  some  in  conversation,  some  work- 
ing, others  drinking  coffee  or  sherbet,  and  many  negligently 
lying  on  their  cushions,  while  their  slaves  (generally  pretty 
girls  of  seventeen  or  eighteen)  were  employed  in  braiding 
their  hair  in  several  pretty  fancies.  In  short,  it  is  the  women's 
coffee-house,  where  all  the  news  of  the  town  is  told,  scandal 
invented,  etc.  They  generally  take  this  diversion  once  a  week, 
and  stay  there  at  least  four  or  five  hours,  without  getting 
cold  by  immediately  coming  out  of  the  hot  bath  into  the 
cold  room,  which  was  very  surprising  to  me.  The  lady  that 
seemed  the  most  considerable  among  them  entreated  me  to 
sit  by  her,  and  would  fain  have  undressed  me  for  the  bath.  I 
excused  myself  with  some  difficulty.  They  being,  however, 
all  so  earnest  in  persuading  me,  I  was  at  last  forced  to  open 
my  shirt  and  show  them  my  stays,  which  satisfied  them  very 
well ;  for  I  saw  they  believed  I  was  locked  up  in  that  ma- 
chine,  and  that  it  was  not  in  my  own   power  to  open  it, 

*  Charles  Jervas  was  a  pupil  of  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller.  He  was  the 
friend  of  Pope,  and  much  celebrated  for  his  portraits  of  females.  The 
beauties  of  his  day  were  proud  to  be  painted  by  his  hand,  after  Pope 
had  published  his  celebrated  epistle  to  him,  in  which  he  is  compli- 
mented as  "  selling  a  thousand  years  of  bloom." 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  Vl 

which  contrivance  they  attributed  to  my  husband.  I  was 
charmed  with  their  civility  and  beauty,  and  should  have  been 
very  glad  to  pass  more  time  with  them  ;  but  Mr.  Wortley 
resolving  to  pursue  his  journey  next  morning,  early,  I  was  in 
haste  to  see  the  ruins  of  Justinian's  church,  which  did  not  af- 
ford me  so  agreeable  a  prospect  as  I  had  left,  being  little  more 
than  a  heap  of  stones. 

Adieu,  madam  :  I  am  sure  I  have  now  entertained  you 
with  an  account  of  such  a  sight  as  you  never  saw  in  your 
life,  and  what  no  book  of  travels  could  inform  you  of,  as  it  is 
no  less  than  death  for  a  man  to  be  found  in  one  of  these  places.* 


LETTER  VII. 

Adrianople,  April  1,  0.  S.  It  17. 
You  see  that  I  am  very  exact  in  keeping  the  promise  you 
engaged  me  to  make.     I  know  not,  however,  whether  your 

*  Dr.  Eussel,  an  author  of  great  credit,  in  his  History  of  Aleppo 
questions  the  truth  of  the  account  here  given  by  Lady  Mary  "Wortley, 
affirming  that  the  native  ladies  of  that  city,  with  whom,  as  their  phy 
sician,  he  had  permission  to  converse  through  a  lattice,  denied  to  him 
the  prevalence,  and  almost  the  existence  of  the  custom  she  describes, 
and  even  seemed  as  much  scandalized  at  hearing  of  it  as  if  they 
had  been  born  and  bred  in  England.  The  writer  of  this  note  con- 
fesses to  having  entertained  doubts  upon  this  point,  arising  from  the 
statement  of  Dr.  Russel ;  but  these  doubts  were  removed  by  the  tes- 
timony of  a  lady,  who  traveled  some  years  ago  in  Turkey,  and  was 
several  months  an  inmate  of  the  English  embassador's  house  in  Pera, 
whose  veracity  no  one  who  knew  her  could  doubt,  and  whose  word 
would  have  been  taken  before  the  oaths  of  a  whole  harem.  That  lady, 
having  been  prevented  by  circumstances  from  visiting  the  baths  of 
Constantinople,  had  an  opportunity  of  doing  so  at  Athens,  and  there 
she  found  Lady  Mary's  account  strictly  correct  in  the  main  points, 
although  the  sight  did  not  inspire  her  with  the  same  degree  of  admira- 
tion. To  use  a  trite  metaphor,  she  found  Lady  Mary's  outline  faithful, 
but  her  coloring  too  vivid.  It  may,  therefore,  be  fairly  presumed  that 
the  Aleppo  ladies,  perceiving  the  doctor's  opinion  of  the  custom, 
thought  fit  to  disclaim  it,  or  that  it  really  did  not  prevail  in  that  par- 
ticular city,  and  their  knowledge  went  no  further. 


12 


LETTERS      TO 


curiosity  will  be  satisfied  with  the  accounts  I  shall  give  you, 
though  I  can  assure  you  the  desire  I  have  to  oblige  you  to 
the  utmost  of  rny  power  has  made  me  very  diligent  in  my 
inquiries  and  observations.  It  is  certain  we  have  but  very 
imperfect  accounts  of  the  manners  and  religion  of  these  peo- 
ple; this  part  of  the  world  being  seldom  visited,  but  by 
merchants,  who  mind  little  but  their  own  affairs  ;  or  travelers, 
who  make  too  short  a  stay  to  be  able  to  report  any  thing 
exactly  of  their  own  knowledge.  The  Turks  are  too  proud 
to  converse  familiarly  with  merchants,  who  can  only  pick  up 
some  confused  informations,  which  are  generally  false,  and 
can  give  no  better  account  of  the  ways  here  than  a  French 
refugee,  lodging  in  a  garret  in  Greek-street,  could  write  of 
the  court  of  England. 

The  journey  we  have  made  from  Belgrade  hither,  can  not 
possibly  be  passed  by  any  out  of  a  public  character.  The 
desert  woods  of  Servia  are  the  common  refuge  of  thieves, 
who  rob  fifty  in  a  company,  so  that  we  had  need  of  all  our 
guards  to  secure  us  ;  and  the  villages  are  so  poor  that  only 
force  could  extort  from  them  necessary  provisions.  Indeed 
the  janizaries  had  no  mercy  on  their  poverty,  killing  all  the 
poultry  and  sheep  they  could  find,  without  asking  to  whom 
they  belonged ;  while  the  wretched  owners  durst  not  put  in 
their  claim,  for  fear  of  being  beaten.  Lambs  just  fallen, 
geese  and  turkies  big  with  egg,  all  massacred  without  distinc- 
tion !  I  fancied  I  heard  the  complaints  of  Melibeus  for  the 
hope  of  his  flock.  When  the  pashas  travel,  it  is  yet  worse. 
These  oppressors  are  not  content  with  eating  all  that  is  to  be 
eaten  belonging  to  the  peasants ;  after  they  have  crammed 
themselves  and  their  numerous  retinue,  they  have  the  impu- 
dence to  '  exact  what  they  call  teeth-money,  a  contribution  for 
the  use  of  their  teeth,  worn  With  doing  them  the  honor  of 
devouring  their  meat.  This  is  literally  and  exactly  true,  how- 
ever extravagant  it  may  seem  ;  and  such  is  the  natural  cor- 
ruption of  a  military  government,  their  religion  not  allowing 
of  this  barbarity  any  more  than  ours  does. 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  id 

I  had  the  advantage  of  lodging  three  weeks  at  Belgrade, 
with  a  principal  effendi,  that  is  to  say,  a  scholar.  This  set  of 
men  are  equally  capable  of  preferments  in  the  law  or  the 
church,  these  two  sciences  being  cast  into  one,  and  a  lawyer 
and  a  priest  being  the  same  word  in  the  Turkish  language. 
They  are  the  only  men  really  considerable  in  the  empire  :  all 
the  profitable  employments  and  church  revenues  are  in  their 
hands.  The  grand-seignior,  though  general  heir  to  his  people, 
never  presumes  to  touch  their  lands  or  money,  which  go,  in 
an  uninterrupted  succession,  to  their  children.  It  is  true,  they 
lose  this  privilege  by  accepting  a  place  at  court,  or  the  title 
of  pasha ;  but  there  are  few  examples  of  such  fools  among 
them.  You  may  easily  judge  of  the  power  of  these  men 
who  have  engrossed  all  the  learning  and  almost  all  the  wealth 
of  the  empire.  They  are  the  real  authors,  though  the  soldiers 
are  the  actors,  of  revolutions.  They  deposed  the  late  Sultan 
Mustapha ;  and  their  power  is  so  well  known  that  it  is  the 
emperor's  interest  to  flatter  them. 

This  is  a  long  digression.  I  was  going  to  tell  you  that  an 
intimate  daily  conversation  with  the  Effendi  Achmet-Bey  gave 
me  an  opportunity  of  knowing  their  religion  and  morals  in  a 
more  particular  manner  than  perhaps  any  Christian  ever  did. 
I  explained  to  him  the  difference  between  the  religion  of  En- 
gland and  Rome ;  and  he  was  pleased  to  hear  there  were 
Christians  that  did  not  worship  images,  or  adore  the  Virgin 
Mary.  The  ridicule  of  transubstantiation  appeared  very 
strong  to  him.     Upon  comparing  our  creeds  together,  I  am 

convinced   that  if  our  friend   Dr. had  free  liberty  of 

preaching  here,  it  would  be  very  easy  to  persuade  the  gener- 
ality to  Christianity,  whose  notions  are  very  little  different 
from  his.  Mr.  Whiston  would  make  a  very  good  apostle  here. 
I  don't  doubt  but  his  zeal  will  be  much  fired  if  you  commu- 
nicate this  account  to  him ;  but  tell  him  he  must  first  have 
the  gift  of  tongues  before  he  can  be  possibly  of  any  use 

Mohammedism  is  divided  into  as  many  sects  as  Christianity  ; 
and  the  first  institution  is  much  neglected  and  obscured  by 

4 


74  LETTERS      T  0 

interpretations.  I  can  not  here  forbear  reflecting  on  the  nat- 
ural inclination  of  mankind  to  make  mysteries  and  novelties. 
The  Zeidi,  Kudi,  Jabari,  etc.,  put  me  in  mind  of  the  Catho- 
lics, Lutherans,  and  Calvinists,  and  are  equally  zealous  against 
one  another.  But  the  most  prevailing  opinion,  if  you  search 
into  the  secret  of  the  effendis,  is  plain  deism.  This  is  indeed 
kept  from  the  people,  who  are  amused  with  a  thousand  dif- 
ferent notions,  according  to  the  different  interests  of  their 
preachers.  There  are  very  few  among  them  (Achmet-Bey  de- 
nied there  were  any)  so  absurd  as  to  set  up  for  wit  by  declaring 
they  believe  no  God  at  all.  And  Sir  Paul  Rycaut  is  mistaken 
(as  he  commonly  is)  in  calling  the  sect  muterin*  (i.  e.  the  secret 
with  us),  atheists,  they  being  deists,  whose  impiety  consists  in 
makiug  a  jest  of  their  prophet.  Achmet-Bey  did  not  own  to 
me  mat  he  was  of  this  opinion,  but  made  no  scruple  of  de- 
viating from  some  part  of  Mohammed's  law,  by  drinking  wine 
with  the  same  freedom  we  did.  When  I  asked  him  how  he 
came  to  allow  himself  that  liberty,  he  made  answer,  that  all 
the  creatures  of  God  are  good,  and  designed  for  the  use  of 
man  ;  however,  that  the  prohibition  of  wine  was  a  very  wise 
maxim,  and  meant  for  the  common  people,  being  the  source 
Df  all  disorders  among  them  ;  but  that  the  prophet  never  de- 
signed to  confine  those  that  knew  how  to  use  it  with  modera- 
tion ;  nevertheless,  he  said,  that  scandal  ought  to  be  avoided, 
and  that  he  never  drank  it  in  public.  This  is  the  general  way 
of  thinking  among  them,  and  very  few  forbear  drinking  wine 
that  are  able  to  afford  it.  He  assured  me  that  if  I  under- 
stood Arabic,  I  should  be  very  well  pleased  with  reading  the 
Alcoran,  which  is  so  far  from  the  nonsense  we  charge  it  with, 
that  it  is  the  purest  morality,  delivered  in  the  very  best  lan- 
guage. I  have  since  heard  impartial  Christians  speak  of  it  in 
the  same  manner ;  and  I  don't  doubt  but  that  all  our  transla- 
tions are  from  copies  got  from  the  Greek  priests,  who  would 

*  See  D'Ohsson,  Tableau  General  de  l'Empire  Othemari,  5  vols. 
8vo.,  1791.  in  which  the  religious  code  of  the  Mohammedans,  and  of 
each  sect,  is  very  satisfactorily  detailed. 


HER      SISTER     AND      FRIENDS.  75 

not  fail  to  falsify  it  with  the  extremity  of  malice.  No  body 
of  men  ever  were  more  ignorant,  or  more  corrupt :  yet  they 
differ  so  little  from  the  Romish  Church,  that,  I  confess,  noth- 
ing gives  me  a  greater  abhorrence  of  the  cruelty  of  your 
clergy,  than  the  barbarous  persecution  of  them  whenever 
they  have  been  their  masters,  for  no  other  reason  than  their  not 
acknowledging  the  Pope.  The  dissenting  in  that  one  article 
has  got  them  the  titles  of  heretics  and  schismatics ;  and, 
what  is  worse,  the  same  treatment.  I  found  at  Philippopolis 
a  sect  of  Christians  that  call  themselves  Paulines.  They  show 
an  old  church,  where,  they  say,  St.  Paul  preached ;  and  he  is 
their  favorite  saint,  after  the  manner  that  St.  Peter  is  at  Rome ; 
neither  do  they  forget  to  give  him  the  same  preference  over 
the  rest  of  the  apostles. 

But  of  all  the  religions  I  have  seen,  that  of  the  Arnaouxs 
seems  to  me  the  most  particular.  They  are  natives  of  Ar- 
naoutlich,  the  ancient  Macedonia,  and  still  retain  the  courage 
and  hardiness,  though  they  have  lost  the  name  of  Macedo- 
nians, being  the  best  militia  in  the  Turkish  empire,  and  the 
only  check  upon  the  janizaries.  They  are  foot  soldiers  ;  we 
had  a  guard  of  them,  relieved  in  every  considerable  town  we 
passed :  they  are  all  clothed  and  armed  at  their  own  expense, 
dressed  in  clean  white  coarse  cloth,  carrying  guns  of  a  prodig- 
ious length,  which  they  run  with  upon  their  shouldiers  as  if 
they  did  not  feel  the  weight  of  them,  the  leader  singing  a  sort 
of  rude  tune,  not  unpleasant,  and  the  rest  making  up  the 
chorus.  These  people,  living  between  Christians  and  Moham- 
medans, and  not  being  skilled  in  controversy,  declare  that  they 
are  utterly  unable  to  judge  which  religion  is  best ;  but,  to  be 
certain  of  not  entirely  rejecting  the  truth,  they  very  pru- 
dently follow  both.  They  go  to  the  mosque  on  Friday,  and  to 
the  church  on  Sunday,  saying  for  their  excuse  that  at  the 
day  of  judgment  they  are  sure  of  protection  from  the  true 
prophet ;  but  which  that  is,  they  are  not  able  to  determine 
in  this  world.  I  believe  there  is  no  other  race  of  mankind 
who  have  so  modest  an  opinion  of  their  own  capacity. 


70 


LETTER  S     TO 


These  are  the  remarks  I  have  made  on  the  diversity  of 
religions  I  have  seen.  I  don't  ask  your  pardon  for  the  liberty 
I  have  taken  in  speaking  of  the  Roman.  I  know  you  equally 
condemn  the  quackery  of  all  the  churches  as  much  as  you 
revere  the  sacred  truths,  in  which  we  both  agree. 

You  will  expect  I  should  say  something  to  you  of  the  an- 
tiquities of  this  country;  but  there  are  few  remains  of  ancient 
Greece.  We  passed  near  the  piece  of  an  arch,  which  is  com- 
monly called  Trajan's  Gate,  from  a  supposition  that  he  made 
it  to  shut  up  the  passage  over  the  mountains  between  Sophia 
and  Philippopolis.  But  I  rather  believe  it  the  remains  of 
some  triumphal  arch  (though  I  could  not  see  any  inscription)  ; 
for  if  that  passage  had  been  shut  up,  there  are  many  others 
that  would  serve  for  the  march  of  an  army ;  and,  notwith- 
standing the  story  of  Baldwin  Earl  of  Flanders  being  over- 
thrown in  these  straits,  after  he  won  Constantinople,  I  don't 
fancy  the  Germans  would  find  themselves  stopped  by  them  at 
this  day.  It  is  true,  the  road  is  now  made  (with  great  indus- 
try) as  commodious  as  possible  for  the  march  of  the  Turkish 
army ;  there  is  not  one  ditch  or  puddle  between  this  place 
and  Belgrade  that  has  not  a  large  strong  bridge  of  planks 
built  over  it ;  but  the  precipices  are  not  so  terrible  as  I  had 
heard  them  represented.  At  these  mountains  we  lay  at  the 
little  village  Kiskoi,  wholly  inhabited  by  Christians,  as  all  the 
peasants  of  Bulgaria  are.  Their  houses  are  nothing  but  little 
huts,  raised  of  dirt  baked  in  the  sun ;  and  they  leave  them, 
and  fly  into  the  mountains,  some  months  before  the  march  of 
the  Turkish  army,  who  would  else  entirely  ruin  them,  by 
driving  away  their  whole  flocks.  This  precaution  secures 
them  a  sort  of  plenty ;  for  such  vast  tracts  of  land  lying  in 
common,  they  have  the  liberty  of  sowing  what  they  please, 
and  ar6  generally  very  industrious  husbandmen.  I  drank 
here  several  sorts  of  delicious  wine.  The  women  dress  them- 
selves in  a  great  variety  of  colored  glass  beads,  and  are  not 
ugly,  but  of  a  tawny  complexion. 

I  have  now  told  you  all  that  is  worth  telling  you,  and  per- 


HER      SISTER      Al-TD      FRIENDS.  11 

haps  more,  relating  to  my  journey.  When  I  am  at  Constan- 
tinople Til  try  to  pick  up  some  curiosities,  and  then  you  shall 
hear  from  me  again. 


LETTER  Vm. 

Adrianople,  April  1,  0.  S.,  Itl7. 

I  wish,  dear  sister,  that  you  were  as  regular  in  letting  me 
know  what  passes  on  your  side  of  the  globe  as  I  am  careful 
in  endeavoring  to  amuse  you  by  the  account  of  all  I  see  here 
that  I  think  worth  your  notice.  You  content  yourself  with 
telling  me  over  and  over,  that  the  town  is  very  dull :  it  may 
possibly  be  dull  to  you,  when  every  day  does  not  present  you 
with  something  new  ;  but  for  me,  that  am  in  arrears  at  least 
two  months'  news,  all  that  seems  very  stale  with  you  would 
be  very  fresh  and  sweet  here.  Pray  let  me  into  more  particu- 
lars, and  I  will  try  to  awaken  your  gratitude,  by  giving  you  a 
full  and  true  relation  of  the  novelties  of  this  place,  none  of 
which  would  surprise  you  more  than  the  sight  of  my  person, 
as  I  am  now  in  my  Turkish  habit,  though  I  believe  you 
would  be  of  my  opinion,  that  'tis  admirably  becoming.  I 
intend  to  send  you  my  picture  ;  in  the  mean  time  accept  of  it 
here. 

The  first  part  of  my  dress  is  a  pair  of  drawers,  very  full, 
that  reach  to  my  shoes,  and  conceal  the  legs  more  modestly 
than  your  petticoats.  They  are  of  a  thin  rose-colored  dam- 
ask, brocaded  with  silver  flowers.  My  shoes  are  of  white  kid 
leather,  embroidered  with  gold.  Over  this  hangs  my  smock, 
of  a  fine  white  silk  gauze,  edged  with  embroidery.  This 
smock  has  wide  sleeves,  hanging  half  way  down  the  arm,  and 
is  closed  at  the  neck  with  a  diamond  button  ;  but  the  shape 
and  color  of  the  bosom  are  very  well  to  be  distinguished 
through  it.  The  antery  is  a  waistcoat,  made  close  to  the 
shape,  of  white  and  gold  damask,  with  very  long  sleeves  fall- 
ing back,  and  fringed  with  deep  gold  fringe,  and  should  have 


78 


LETTERS      TO 


diamond  or  pearl  buttons.  My  caftan,  of  the  same  stuff  with 
my  drawers,  is  a  robe  exactly  fitted  to  my  shape,  and  reaching 
to  my  feet,  with  very  long  straight  falling  sleeves.  Over  this 
is  my  girdle,  of  about  four  fingers  broad,  which  all  that  can 
afford  it  have  entirely  of  diamonds  or  other  precious  stones  ; 
those  who  will  not  be  at  that  expense,  have  it  of  exquisite 
embroidery  on  satin  ;  but  it  must  be  fastened  before  with  a 
clasp  of  diamonds.  The  curdee  is  a  loose  robe  they  throw  off 
or  put  on  according  to  the  weather,  being  of  a  rich  brocade 
(mine  is  green  and  gold),  either  lined  with  ermine  or  sables  ; 
the  sleeves  reach  very  little  below  the  shoulders.  The  head- 
dress is  composed  of  a  cap,  called  talpoclc,  which  is  in  winter 
of  fine  velvet  embroidered  with  pearls  or  diamonds,  and  in 
summer  of  a  light  shining  silver  stuff.  This  is  fixed  on  one 
side  of  the  head,  hanging  a  little  way  down  with  a  gold  tassel, 
and  bound  on  either  with  a  circle  of. diamonds  (as  I  have  seen 
several)  or  a  rich  embroidered  handkerchief.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  head  the  hair  is  laid  flat ;  and  here  the  ladies  are 
at  liberty  to  show  their  fancies  :  some  putting  flowers,  others 
a  plume  of  heron's  feathers,  and,  in  short,  what  they  please  ; 
but  the  most  general  fashion  is  a  large  bouquet  of  jewels, 
made  like  natural  flowers :  that  is,  the  buds,  of  pearl ;  the 
roses,  of  different  colored  rubies;  the  jasmins,  of  diamonds; 
the  jonquils,  of  topazes,  etc.,  so  well  set  and  enameled,  'tis 
hard  to  imagine  any  thing  of  that  kind  so  beautiful.  The 
hair  hangs  at  its  full  length  behind,  divided  into  tresses 
braided  with  pearl  or  ribbon,  which  is  always  in  great  quan- 
tity. 

T  never  saw  in  my  life  so  many  fine  heads  of  hair.  In  one 
lady's,  I  have  counted  a  hundred  and  ten  of  the  tresses,  all 
natural ;  but  it  must  be  owned  that  every  kind  of  beauty  is 
more  common  here  than  with  us.  'Tis  surprising  to  see  a 
young  woman  that  is  not  very  handsome.  They  have  natur- 
ally the  most  beautiful  complexion  in  the  world,  and  gener- 
ally large  black  eyes.  I  can  assure  you  with  great  truth,  that 
the  court  of  England  (though  I  believe  it  is  the   fairest  in 


HER      SISTER     AND      FRIENDS.  ^9 

Christendom)  does  not  contain  so  many  beauties  as  are  un- 
der our  protection  here.  They  generally  shape  their  eye- 
brows, and  both  Greeks  and  Turks  have  a  custom  of  putting 
round  their  eyes  a  black  tincture,  that,  at  a  distance,  or  by 
candle-light,  adds  very  much  to  the  blackness  of  them.  I 
fancy  many  of  our  ladies  would  be  overjoyed  to  know  this  se- 
cret ;  but  'tis  too  visible  by  day.  They  dye  their  nails  a  rose- 
color  ;  but,  I  own,  I  can  not  enough  accustom  myself  to  this 
fashion  to  find  any  beauty  in  it. 

As  to  their  morality  or  good  conduct,  I  can  say,  like  Harle- 
quin, that  'tis  just  as  it  is  with  you  ;  and  the  Turkish  ladies 
don't  commit  one  sin  the  less  for  not  being  Christians.  Now 
that  I  am  a  little  acquainted  with  their  ways,  I  can  not  for- 
bear admiring  either  the  exemplary  discretion  or  extreme  stu- 
pidity of  all  the  writers  that  have  given  accounts  of  them.  "Tis 
very  easy  to  see  they  have  in  reality  more  liberty  than  we 
have.  No  woman,  of  what  rank  soever,  is  permitted  to  go 
into  the  streets  without  two  murlins ;  one  that  covers  her 
face  all  but  her  eyes,  and  another  that  hides  the  whole  dress 
of  her  head,  and  hangs  half  way  down  her  back.  Their 
shapes  are  also  wholly  concealed  by  a  thing  they  call  a  feri- 
gee,  which  no  woman  of  any  sort  appears  without ;  this  has 
straight  sleeves,  that  reach  to  their  finger-ends,  and  it  laps 
all  round  them,  not  unlike  a  riding-hood.  In  winter  'tis  of 
cloth,  and  in  summer  of  plain  stuff  or  silk.  You  may  guess, 
then,  how  effectually  this  disguises  them,  so  that  there  is  no 
distinguishing  the  great  lady  from  her  slave.  'Tis  impossible 
for  the  most  jealous  husband  to  know  his  wife  when  he  meets 
her ;  and  no  man  dare  touch  or  follow  a  woman  in  the  street. 

This  perpetual  masquerade  gives  them  entire  liberty  of  fol- 
lowing their  inclinations  without  danger  of  discovery.  The 
most  usual  method  of  intrigue  is  to  send  an  appointment  to 
the  lover  to  meet  the  lady  at  a  Jew's  shop,  which  are  as  no- 
toriously convenient  as  our  Indian-houses  ;  and  yet,  even  those 
who  don't  make  use  of  them,  do  not  scruple  to  go  to  buy 
pennyworths,  and  tumble  over  rich  goods,  which  are  chiefly 


80  LETTERSTO 

to  be  found  among  that  sort  of  people.  The  great  ladies 
seldom  let  their  gallants  know  who  they  are  ;  and  'tis  so  diffi- 
cult to  find  it  out,  that  they  can  very  seldom  guess  at  her 
name,  whom  they  have  corresponded  with  for  above  half  a 
year  together.  You  may  easily  imagine  the  number  of  faith- 
ful wives  veiy  small  in  a  country  where  they  have  nothing  to 
fear  from  a  lover's  indiscretion,  since  we  see  so  many  have 
the  courage  to  expose  themselves  to  that  in  this  world,  and 
all  the  threatened  punishment  of  the  next,  which  is  never 
preached  to  the  Turkish  damsels.  Neither  have  they  much  to 
apprehend  from  the  resentment  of  their  husbands ;  those  la- 
dies that  are  rich  having  all  their  money  in  their  own  hands. 

Upon  the  whole,  I  look  upon  the  Turkish  women  as  the 
only  free  people  in  the  empire :  the  very  divan  pays  respect 
to  them ;  and  the  Grand-Seignior  himself,  when  a  pasha  is  ex- 
ecuted, never  violates  the  privileges  of  the  harem  (or  women's 
apartment),  which  remains  unsearched  and  entire  to  the 
widow.  They  are  queens  of  their  slaves,  whom  the  husbaud 
has  no  permission  so  much  as  to  look  upon,  except  it  be  an 
old  woman  or  two  that  his  lady  chooses.  'Tis  true  their  law 
permits  them  four  wives ;  but  there  is  no  instance  of  a  man 
of  quality  that  makes  use  of  this  liberty,  or  of  a  woman  of 
rank  that  would  suffer  it. 


LETTER  IX. 

Adriaxople,  April  18,  0.  S.,  1717. 
I  wrote  to  you,  dear  sister,  and  to  all  my  other  English  cor- 
respondents, by  the  last  ship,  and  only  Heaven  can  tell  when  I 
shall  have  another  opportunity  of  sending  to  you  ;  but  I  can 
not  forbear  to  write  again,  though  perhaps  my  letter  may  lie 
upon  my  hands  these  two  months.  To  confess  the  truth,  my 
head  is  so  full  of  my  entertainment  yesterday,  that  'tis  abso- 
lutely necessary  for  my  own  repose  to  give  it  some  vent.  With- 
out further  preface,  I  will  then  begin  my  story. 


HER     SISTER     AND      FRIENDS.  81 

I  was  invited  to  dine  with  the  Grand-Vizier's  lady,*  and  it 
was  with  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  I  prepared  myself  for  an 
entertainment  which  was  never  before  given  to  any  Christian. 
I  thought  I  should  very  little  satisfy  her  curiosity  (which  I  did 
not  doubt  was  a  considerable  motive  to  the  invitation)  by  going 
in  a  dress  she  was  used  to  see,  and  therefore  dressed  myself 
in  the  court  habit  of  Vienna,  which  is  much  more  magnificent 
than  ours.  However,  I  chose  to  go  incognita,  to  avoid  any 
disputes  about  ceremony,  and  went  in  a  Turkish  coach,  only 
attended  by  my  woman  that  held  up  my  train,  and  the  Greek 
lady  who  was  my  interpretress.  I  was  met  at  the  court  door 
by  her  black  eunuch,  who  helped  me  out  of  the  coach  with 
great  respect,  and  conducted  me  through  several  rooms,  where 
her  she-slaves,  finely  dressed,  were  ranged  on  each  side.  In 
the  innermost  I  found  the  lady  sitting  on  her  sofa,  in  a  sable 
vest.  She  advanced  to  meet  me,  and  presented  me  half  a  dozen 
of  her  friends  with  great  civility.  She  seemed  a  very  good- 
looking  woman,  near  fifty  years  old.  I  was  surprised  to  ob- 
serve so  little  magnificence  in  her  house,  the  furniture  being 
all  very  moderate :  and  except  the  habits,  and  number  of  her 
slaves,  nothing  about  her  appeared  expensive.  She  guessed 
at  my  thoughts,  and  told  me  she  was  no  longer  of  an  age  to 
spend  either  her  time  or  money  in  superfluities ;  that  her 
whole  expense  was  in  charity,  and  her  whole  employment 
praying  to  God.  There  was  no  affectation  in  this  speech ;  both 
she  and  her  husband  are  entirely  given  up  to  devotion.  He 
never  looks  upon  any  other  woman ;  and,  what  is  much  more 
extraordinary,  touches  no  bribes,  notwithstanding  the  example 
of  all  his  predecessors.  He  is  so  scrupulous  on  this  point,  he 
would  not  accept  Mr.  Wortley's  present,  till  he  had  been  as- 
sured over  and  over  that  it  was  a  settled  perquisite  of  his  place 
at  the  entrance  of  every  embassador. 

She  entertained  me  with  all  kind  of  civility  till  dinner  came 
in,  which  was  served,  one  dish  at  a  time,  to  a  vast  number,  all 

*  This  was  the  Sultana  Hafiten,  the  favorite  and  widow  of  the  Sul- 
tan Mustapha  II.,  who  died  in  1703. 

4* 


82  LETTERS     TO 

finely  dressed  after  their  manner,  which  I  don't  think  so  bad 
as  you  have  perhaps  heard  it  represented.  I  am  a  very  good 
judge  of  their  eating,  having  lived  three  weeks  in  the  house  of 
an  effendi  at  Belgrade,  who  gave  us  very  magnificent  dinners 
dressed  by  his  own  cooks.  The  first  week  they  pleased  me 
extremely ;  but  I  own  I  then  began  to  grow  weary  of  their 
table,  and  desired  our  own  cook  might  add  a  dish  or  two  after 
our  manner.  But  I  attribute  this  to  custom,  and  am  very 
much  inclined  to  believe  that  an  Indian,  who  had  never  tasted 
of  either,  would  prefer  their  cookery  to  ours.  Their  sauces 
are  very  high,  all  the  roast  very  much  done.  They  use  a  great 
deal  of  very  rich  spice.  The  soup  is  served  for  the  last  dish  ; 
and  they  have  at  least  as  great  a  variety  of  ragouts  as  we  have. 
I  was  very  sorry  I  could  not  eat  of  as  many  as  the  good  lady 
would  have  had  me,  who  was  very  earnest  in  serving  me  of 
every  thing.  The  treat  concluded  with  coffee  and  perfumes, 
which  is  a  high  mark  of  respect ;  two  slaves  kneeling  censed  my 
hair,  clothes,  and  handkerchief.  After  this  ceremony,  she 
commanded  her  slaves  to  play  and  dance,  which  they  did  with 
their  guitars  in  their  hands,  and  she  excused  to  me  their  want 
of  skill,  saying  she  took  no  care  to  accomplish  them  in  that  art. 

I  returned  her  thanks,  and  soon  after  took  my  leave.  I  was 
conducted  back  in  the  same  manner  I  entered,  and  would  have 
gone  straight  to  my  own  house ;  but  the  Greek  lady  with  me 
earnestly  solicited  me  to  visit  the  Jciyaya.s^  lady,  saying  he 
was  the  second  officer  in  the  empire,  and  ought  indeed  to  be 
looked  upon  as  the  first,  the  Grand- Vizier  having  only  the 
name,  while  he  exercised  the  authority.  I  had  found  so  little 
diversion  in  the  Vizier's  harem,\  that  I  had  no  mind  to  go 
into  another.  But  her  importunity  prevailed  with  me,  and  I 
am  extremely  glad  I  was  so  complaisant. 

All  things  here  were  with  quite  another  air  than  at  the 

*  Kyhaia,  lieutenant.     The  deputy  to  the  G-rand- Vizier. 

f  Harem,  literally  "  The  Forbidden,"  the  apartment  sacredly  appro- 
priate to  females,  into  which  every  man  in  Turkey,  but  the  master  of 
the  house,  is  interdicted  from  entering. 


HER      SISTER     AND      FRIENDS.  83 

Grand- Vizier's ;  and  the  very  house  confessed  the  difference 
between  an  old  devotee  and  a  young  beauty.  It  was  nicely 
clean  and  magnificent.  I  was  met  at  the  door  by  two  black 
eunuchs,  who  led  me  through  a  long  gallery  between  two  ranks 
of  k  lutiful  young  girls,  with  their  hair  finely  plaited,  almost 
naEl  -ig to  tneir  feet>  a^  dressed  in  fine  light  damasks,  brocaded 
with  silver.  I  was  sorry  that  decency  did  not  permit  me  to  stop 
to  consider  them  nearer.  But  that  thought  was  lost  upon  my 
entrance  into  a  large  room,  or  rather  pavillion,  built  round  with 
gilded  sashes,  which  were  most  of  them  thrown  up,  and  the 
trees  planted  near  them  gave  an  agreeable  shade,  which  hin- 
dered the  sun  from  being  troublesome.  The  jasmins  and 
honeysuckles  that  twisted  round  their  trunks  shed  a'  soft  iper- 
fume,  increased  by  a  white  marble  fountain  playing  sweet  water 
in  the  lower  part  of  the  room,  which  fell  into  three  or  four 
basins  with  a  pleasing  sound.  The  roof  was  painted  with  all 
sorts  of  flowers,  falling  out  of  gilded  baskets,  that  seemed  tumb- 
ling down.  On  a  sofa,  raised  three  steps,  and  covered  with 
fine  Persian  carpets,  sat  the  kiyaya's  lady,  leaning  on  cushions 
of  white  satin,  embroidered ;  and  at  her  feet  sat  two  young 
girls  about  twelve  years  old,  lovely  as  angels,  dressed  per- 
fectly rich,  and  almost  covered  with  jewels.  But  they  were 
hardly  seen  near  the  fair  Fatima  (for  that  is  her  name),  so 
mVch'ker  beauty  effaced  every  thing  I  have  seen,  nay,  all  that 
has  been  called  lovely  either  in  England  or  Germany.  I  must 
own  that  I  never  saw  any  thing  so  gloriously  beautiful,  nor  car. 
I  recollect  a  face  that  would  have  been  taken  notice  of  near 
hers.  She  stood  up  to  receive  me,  saluting  me  after  their 
fashion,  putting  her  hand  to  her  heart  with  a  sweetness  full  of 
majesty,  that  no  court  breeding  could  ever  give.  She  ordered 
cushions  to  be  given  me,  and  took  care  to  place  me  in  the 
corner,  which  is  the  place  of  honor.  I  confess,  though  the 
t^reek  lady  had  before  given  me  a  great  opinion  of  her  beauty, 
I  was  wD  struck  with  admiration,  that  I  could  not  for  some  time 
ipeak  to  her,  being  wholly  taken  up  in  gazing.  That  surpris- 
ng  harmony  of  features  !  that  charming  result  of  the  whole  ! 


84  LETTERS      TO 

that  exact  proportion  of  body !  that  lovely  bloom  of  complexion 
unsullied  by  art !  the  unutterable  enchantment  of  her  smile ! 
But  her  eyes  ! — large  and  black,  with  all  the  soft  languishment 
of  the  blue  !  every  turn  of  her  face  discovering  some  new  grace./ 
After  my  first  surprise  was  over,  I  endeavored,  by  nicely 
examining  her  face,  to  find  out  some  imperfection,  without  any  / 
fruit  of  my  search  but  my  being  clearly  convinced  of  the  error 
of  that  vulgar  notion  that  a  face  exactly  proportioned,  and 
perfectly  beautiful,  would  not  be  agreeable ;  nature  having 
done  for  her,  with  more  success,  what  Apelles  is  said  to  have 
essayed,  by  a  collection  of  the  most  exact  features,  to  form  a 
perfect  face.  Add  to  all  this  a  behavior  so  full  of  grace  and 
sweetness,  such  easy  motions,  with  an  air  so  majestic,  yet  free 
from  sti^Pness  or  affectation,  that  I  am  persuaded,  could  she  be 
suddenly  transported  upon  the  most  polite  throne  of  Europe, 
nobody  would  think  her  other  than  born  and  bred  to  be  a 
queen,  though  educated  in  a  country  we  call  barbarous.  To 
say  all  in  a  word,  our  most  celebrated  English  beauties  would 
vanish  near  her. 

When  I  took  my  leave,  two  maids  brought  in  a  fine  silver 
!  basket  of  embroidered  handkerchiefs ;  she  begged  I  would 
wear  the  richest  for  her  sake,  and  gave  the  others  to  my 
woman  and  interpretress.  I  retired  through  the  same  cere- 
monies as  before,  and  could  not  help  thinking  I  had  been  some 
time  in  Mohammed's  paradise,  so  much  was  I  charmed  with 
what  I  had  seen.  I  know  not  how  the  relation  of  it  appears 
to  you.  I  wish  it  may  give  you  part  of  my  pleasure ;  for  I 
would  have  my  dear  sister  share  in  all  my  diversions. 


LETTER  X. 

Adrianople,  May  17,  0.  S. 
I  am  going  to  leave  Adrianople,  and  I  would  not  do  it  with- 
out giving  you  some  account  of  all  that  is  curious  in  it,  which 
I  have  taken  a  great  deal  of  pains  to  see. 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  85 

I  will  not  trouble  you  with  wise  dissertations,  whether  or  no 
this  is  the  same  city  that  was  anciently  called  Orestesit,  or 
Oreste,  which  you  know  better  than  I  do.  It  is  now  called 
from  the  Emperor  Adrian,  and  was  the  first  European  seat  of 
the  Turkish  empire,  and  has  been  the  favorite  residence  of 
many  Sultans.  Mohammed  the  Fourth,  and  Mustapha,  the 
brother  of  the  reigning  Emperor,  were  so  fond  of  it  that  they 
wholly  abandoned  Constantinople  ;  which  humor  so  far  exas- 
perated the  janizaries,  that  it  was  a  considerable  motive  to 
the  rebellions  that  deposed  them.  Yet  this  man  seems  to 
love  to  keep  his  court  here.  I  can  give  you  no  reason  for 
this  partiality.  'Tis  true  the  situation  is  fine,  and  the  country 
all  around  very  beautiful ;  but  the  air  is  extremely  bad,  and 
the  seraglio  itself  is  not  free  from  the  ill  effect  of  it.  The 
town  is  said  to  be  eight  miles  in  compass ;  I  suppose  they 
reckon  in  the  gardens.  There  are  some  good  houses  in  it,  I 
mean  large  ones ;  for  the  architecture  of  their  palaces  never 
mak^s  any  great  show.  It  is  now  very  full  of  people ;  but 
they  are  most  of  them  such  as  follow  the  court  or  camp ;  and 
when  they  are  removed,  I  am  told  'tis  no  populous  city.  The 
river  Maritza  (anciently  the  Hebrus),  on  which  it  is  situated, 
is  dried  up  every  summer,  which  contributes  very  much  to 
make  it  unwholesome.  It  is  now  a  very  pleasant  stream. 
There  are  two  noble  bridges  built  over  it. 

I  had  the  curiosity  to  go  to  see  the  Exchange  in  my  Turkish 
dress,  which  is  disguise  sufficient.  Yet  I  own  I  was  not  very 
easy  when  I  saw  it  crowded  with  janizaries ;  but  they  dare 
not  be  rude  to  a  woman,  and  made  way  for  me  with  as  much 
respect  as  if  I  had  been  in  my  own  figure.  It  is  half  a  mile 
in  length,  the  roof  arched,  and  kept  extremely  neat.  It  holds 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  shops,  furnished  with  all  sorts 
of  rich  goods,  exposed  to  sale  in  the  same  manner  as  at  the 
New  Exchange*  in  London.  But  the  the  pavement  is  kept 
much  neater ;  and  the  shops  are  all  so  clean  they  seem  just 
new  painted.  Idle  people  of  all  sorts  walk  here  for  their  di- 
*  Exeter  'Change. 


86  LETTERS      TO 

version,  or  amuse  themselves  with  drinking  coffee,  or  sherbet, 
which  is  cried  about  as  oranges  and  sweet-meats  are  in  our 
play-houses. 

I  observed  most  of  the  rich  tradesmen  were  Jews.  That 
people  are  in  incredible  power  in  this  country.  They  have 
many  privileges  above  all  the  natural  Turks  themselves,  and 
have  formed  a  very  considerable  commonwealth  here,  being 
judged  by  their  own  laws.  They  have  drawn  the  whole  trade 
of  the  empire  into  their  hands,  partly  by  the  firm  union  among 
themselves,  and  partly  by  the  idle  temper  and  want  of  indus- 
try in  the  Turks.  Every  pasha  has  his  Jew,  who  is  his  homme 
d'affaires  ;  he  is  let  into  all  his  secrets,  and  does  all  his  busi- 
ness. No  bargain  is  made,  no  bribe  received,  no  merchandise 
disposed  of,  but  what  passes  through  their  hands.  They  are 
the  physicians,  the  stewards,  and  the  interpreters  of  all  the 
great  men. 

You  may  judge  how  advantageous  this  is  to  a  people  who 
never  fail  to  make  use  of  the  smallest  advantages.  They  have 
found  the  secret  of  making  themselves  so  necessary  that  they 
are  certain  of  the  protection  of  the  court,  whatever  ministry  is 
in  power.  Even  the  English,  French,  and  Italian  merchants, 
who  are  sensible  of  their  artifices,  are,  however,  forced  to  trust 
their  affairs  to  their  negotiation,  nothing  of  trade  being  man- 
aged without  them,  and  the  meanest  among  them  being  too 
important  to  be  disobliged,  since  the  whole  body  take  care  of 
his  interests  with  as  much  vigor  as  they  would  those  of  the 
most  considerable  of  their  members.  There  are  many  of  them 
vastly  rich,  but  take  care  to  make  little  public  show  of  it ; 
though  they  live  in  their  houses  in  the  utmost  luxury  and 
magnificence.  This  copious  subject  has  drawn  me  from  roy 
description  of  the  exchange,  founded  by  AH  Pasha,  whose 
name  it  bears.  Near  it  is  the  tchartshi,  a  street  of  a  mile  in 
length,  full  of  shops  of  all  kinds  of  fine  merchandise,  but  ex- 
cessively dear,  nothing  being  made  here.  It  is  covered  on  the 
top  with  boards,  to  keep  out  the  rain,  that  merchants  may 
meet  conveniently  in  all  kinds  of  weathers.     The  bessiten  near 


HER     SISTER     AND      FRIENDS.  87 

it  is  another  exchange,  built  upon  pillars,  where  all  sorts  of 
house-furniture  are  sold  :  glittering  every  where  with  gold,  rich 
embroidery,  and  jewels,  it  makes  a  very  agreeable  show. 

From  this  place  I  went,  in  my  Turkish  coach,  to  the  camp, 
which  is  to  move  in  a  few  days  to  the  frontiers.  The  Sultan 
is  already  gone  to  his  tents,  and  all  his  court ;  the  appearance 
of  them  is,  indeed,  very  magnificent.  Those  of  the  great  men 
are  rather  like  palaces  than  tents,  taking  up  a  great  compass 
of  ground,  and  being  divided  into  a  vast  number  of  apart- 
ments. They  are  all  of  green,  and  the  pashas  of  three  tails 
have  those  ensigns  of  their  power  placed  in  a  very  conspicuous 
manner  before  their  tents,  which  are  adorned  on  the  top  with 
gilded  balls,  more  or  less,  according  to  their  different  ranks. 
The  ladies  go  in  coaches  to  see  the  camp,  as  eagerly  as  ours  ^ 
did  to  that  of  Hyde  Park ;  but  it  is  very  easy  to  observe  that 
the  soldiers  do  not  begin  the  campaign  with  any  great  cheer- 
fulness. The  war  is  a  general  grievance  upon  the  people,  but 
particularly  hard  upon  the  tradesmen,  now  that  the  Grand- 
Signior  is  resolved  to  lead  his  army  in  person.  Every  com- 
pany of  them  is  obliged,  upon  this  occasion,  to  make  a  present 
according  to  their  ability. 

I  took  the  pains  of  rising  at  six  in  the  morning  to  see  the 
ceremony,  which  did  not,  however,  begin  till  eight.  The 
Grand-Seignior  was  at  the  seraglio  window  to  see  the  procession, 
which  passed  through  the  principal  streets.  It  was  preceded 
by  an  effendi,  mounted  on  a  camel,  richly  furnished,  reading 
aloud  the  Alcoran,  finely  bound,  laid  upon  a  cushion.  He 
was  surrounded  by  a  parcel  of  boys,  in  white,  singing  some 
verses  of  it,  followed  by  a  man  dressed  in  green  boughs,  rep- 
resenting a  clean  husbandman  sowing  seed.  After  him  sev- 
eral reapers,  with  garlands  of  ears  of  corn,  as  Ceres  is  pictured, 
with  scythes  in  their  hands,  seeming  to  mow.  Then  a  little 
machine  drawn  by  oxen,  in  which  was  a  windmill,  and  boys 
employed  in  grinding  corn,  followed  by  another  machine, 
drawn  by  buffaloes,  carrying  an  oven,  and  two  more  boys,  one 
employed  in  kneading  the  bread,  and  another  in  drawing  it 


88  LETTERS      TO 

out  of  the  oven.  These  boys  threw  little  cakes  on  both  sides 
among  the  crowd,  and  were  followed  by  the  whole  company 
of  bakers,  marching  on  foot,  two  by  two,  in  their  best  clothes, 
with  cakes,  loaves,  pastries,  and  pies  of  all  sorts,  on  their  heads, 
and  after  them  two  buffoons,  or  jack-puddings,  with  their  faces 
and  clothes  smeared  with  meal,  who  diverted  the  mob  with 
their  antic  gestures.  In  the  same  manner  followed  all  the 
comj)anies  of  trade  in  the  empire ;  the  nobler  sort,  such  as 
jewelers,  mercers,  etc.,  finely  mounted,  and  many  of  the  pa- 
geants that  represent  their  trades,  perfectly  magnificent ; 
among  which,  that  of  the  furriers  made  one  of  the  best  fig- 
ures, being  a  very  large  machine  set  round  with  the  skins  of 
ermines,  foxes,  etc.,  so  well  stuffed  that  the  animals  seemed  to 
be  alive,  and  followed  by  music  and  dancers.  I  believe  they 
were,  upon  the  whole,  twenty  thousand  men,  all  ready  to  fol- 
low his  highness  if  he  commanded  them.  The  rear  was  closed 
by  the  volunteers,  who  came  to  beg  the  honor  of  dying  in  his 
service.  This  part  of  the  show  seemed  to  me  so  barbarous 
that  I  removed  from  the  window  upon  the  first  appearance  of 
it.  They  were  all  naked  to  the  middle.  Some  had  their  arms 
pierced  through  with  arrows,  left  sticking  in  them.  Others 
had  them  sticking  in  their  heads,  the  blood  trickling  down 
their  faces.  Some  slashed  their  arms  with  sharp  knives,  mak- 
ing the  blood  spring  out  upon  those  that  stood  there ;  and 
this  is  looked  upon  as  an  expression  of  their  zeal  for  glory.  I 
am  told  that  some  make  use  of  it  to  advance  their  love ;  and 
when  they  are  near  the  window  where  their  mistress  stands 
(all  the  women  in  town  being  vailed  to  see  this  spectacle),  they 
stick  another  arrow  for  her  sake,  who  gives  some  sign  of  ap- 
probation and  encouragement  to  this  gallantry.  The  whole 
show  lasted  for  near  eight  hours,  to  my  great  sorrow,  who  was 
heartily  tired,  though  I  was  in  the  house  of  the  widow  of  the 
captain-pasha  (admiral),  who  refreshed  me  with  coffee,  sweet- 
meats, sherbet,  etc.,  with  all  possible  civility. 

I  went  two  days  after  to  see  the  mosque  of  Sultan  Selim  I.* 
0  The  same  Sultan,  between  the  years  1552  and  1556,  constructed 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  89 

which  is  a  building  very  well  worth  the  curiosity  of  a  trav- 
eler. I  was  dressed  in  my  Turkish  habit,  and  admitted  with- 
out scruple ;  though  I  believe  they  guessed  who  I  was,  by  the 
extreme  officiousness  of  the  door-keeper  to  show  me  every  part 
of  it.  It  is  situated  very  advantageously  in  the  midst  of  the 
city,  and  in  the  highest  part  of  it,  making  a  very  noble  show. 
The  first  court  has  four  gates,  and  the  innermost  three.  They 
are  both  of  them  surrounded  with  cloisters,  with  marble  pil- 
lars of  the  Ionic  order,  finely  polished,  and  of  very  lively  col- 
ors ;  the  whole  pavement  is  of  white  marble,  and  the  roof  of 
the  cloisters  divided  into  several  cupolas  or  domes,  headed 
with  gilt  balls  on  the  top.  In  the  midst  of  each  court  are  fine 
fountains  of  white  marble ;  and,  before  the  great  gate  of  the 
mosque,  a  portico,  with  green  marble  pillars,  which  has  five 
gates,  the  body  of  the  mosque  being  one  prodigious  dome. 

I  understand  so  little  of  architecture  I  dare  not  pretend  to 
speak  of  the  proportions.  It  seemed  to  me  very  regular  ;  this 
I  am  sure  of,  it  is  vastly  high,  and  I  thought  it  the  noblest 
building  I  ever  saw.  It  has  two  rows  of  marble  galleries  on 
pillars,  with  marble  balusters ;  the  pavement  is  also  marble, 
covered  with  Persian  carpets.  In  my  opinion,  it  is  a  great 
addition  to  its  beauty  that  it  is  not  divided  into  pews,  and 
incumbered  with  forms  and  benches,  like  our  churches ;  nor 
the  pillars,  which  are,  most  of  them,  red  and  white  marble, 
disfigured  by  the  little  tawdry  images  and  pictures  that  give 
Roman  Catholic  churches  the  air  of  toy-shops.  The  walls 
seemed  to  be  inlaid  with  such  very  lively  colors,  in  small  flow- 
ers, that  I  could  not  imagine  what  stones  had  been  made  use 
of.  But  going  nearer,  I  saw  they  were  crusted  with  japan 
china,  which  has  a  very  beautiful  effect.  In  the  midst  hung 
a  vast  lamp  of  silver,  gilt,  besides  which,  I  do  verily  believe,  there 
were  at  least  two  thousand  of  a  lesser  size.  This  must  look 
very  glorious  when  they  are  all  lighted  ;  but  being  at  night, 

another  mosque  at  Constantinople,  which  bears  his  name.  The  archi- 
tecture exactly  resembles  this,  and  forms  a  perfect  square  of  seventy- 
five  feet,  with  a  flat  cupola  rising  from  the  side  walls. 


90  LETTERS      TO 

no  women  are  suffered  to  enter.  Under  ,the  large  lamp  is  a 
great  pulpit  of  carved  wood,  gilt ;  and  just  by,  a  fountain  to 
wash,  which,  you  know,  is  an  essential  part  of  their  devotion. 
In  one  corner  is  a  little  gallery,  inclosed  with  gilded  lattices, 
for  the  Grand-Seignior.  At  the  upper  end,  a  large  niche,  very 
like  an  altar,  raised  two  steps,  covered  with  gold  brocade, 
and  standing  before  it,  two  silver  gilt  candlesticks,  the  height 
of  a  man,  and  in  them  white  wax  candles,  as  thick  as  a  man's 
waist.  The  outside  of  the  mosque  is  adorned  with  towers, 
vastly  high,  gilt  on  the  top,  from  whence  the  imaums  call  the 
people  to  prayers.  I  had  the  curiosity  to  go  up  one  of  them, 
which  is  contrived  so  artfully  as  to  give  surprise  to  all  that 
see  it.  There  is  but  one  door,  which  leads  to  three  different 
staircases,  going  to  the  three  different  stories  of  the  tower,  in 
such  a  manner  that  three  priests  may  ascend,  rounding,  with- 
out ever  meeting  each  other ;  a  contrivance  very  much  ad- 
mired. 

Behind  the  mosque  is  an  exchange,  full  of  shops,  where 
poor  artificers  are  lodged  gratis.  I  saw  several  dervises  at 
their  prayers  here.  They  are  dressed  in  a  plain  piece  of 
woolen,  with  their  arms  bare,  and  a  woolen  cap  on  their 
heads,  like  a  high-crowned  hat  without  brims.  I  went  to  see 
some  other  mosques,  built  much  after  the  same  manner,  but 
not  comparable  in  point  of  magnificence  to  this  I  have  de- 
scribed, which  is  infinitely  beyond  any  church  in  Germany 
or  England ;  I  won't  talk  of  other  countries  I  have  not  seen. 
The  seraglio  does  not  seem  a  very  magnificent  palace.  But 
the  gardens  are  very  large,  plentifully  supplied  with  water, 
and  full  of  trees ;  which  is  all  I  know  of  them,  having  never 
been  in  them. 

I  tell  you  nothing  of  the  order  of  Mr.  Wortley's  entry,  and 
his  audience.  These  things  are  always  the  same,  and  have 
been  so  often  described,  I  won't  trouble  you  with  the  repe- 
tition. The  young  prince,  about  eleven  years  old,  sits  near 
his  father  when  he  gives  audience  :  he  is  a  handsome  boy ; 
but,  probably,  will  not  immediately  succeed  the  Sultan,  there 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  91 

being  two  sons  of  Sultan  Mustapha,  his  eldest  brother,  re- 
maining ;  the  eldest  about  twenty  years  old,  on  whom  the 
hopes  of  the  people  are  fixed.  This  reign  has  been  bloody  and 
avaricious.  I  am  apt  to  believe  they  are  very  impatient  to 
see  the  end  of  it. 

P.  S. — I  will  write  to  you  again  from  Constantinople. 


LETTER  XL 

Constantinople,  May  29,  0.  S.,  1717. 

I  have  had  the  advantage  of  very  fine  weather  all  my  jour- 
ney ;  and,  as  the  summer  is  now  in  its  beauty,  I  enjoyed  the 
pleasure  of  fine  prospects ;  and  the  meadows  being  full  of  all 
sorts  of  garden  flowers,  and  sweet  herbs,  my  berlin  perfumed 
the  air  as  it  pressed  them.  The  Grand  Seignior  furnished  us 
with  thirty  covered  wagons  for  our  baggage,  and  five  coaches 
of  the  country  for  our  women.  We  found  the  road  full  of  the 
great  spahis  and  their  equipages  coming  out  of  Asia  to  the 
war.  They  always  travel  with  tents ;  but  I  chose  to  lie  in 
houses  all  the  way. 

I  will  not  trouble  you  with  the  names  of  the  villages  we 
passed,  in  which  there  was  nothing  remarkable,  but  at  Tchiorlu, 
where  there  was  a  conac,  or  little  seraglio,  built  for  the  use  of 
the  Grand  Seignior  when  he  goes  this  road.  I  had  the  curi- 
osity to  view  all  the  apartments  destined  for  the  ladies  of  his 
court.  They  were  in  the  midst  of  a  thick  grove  of  trees,  made 
fresh  by  fountains  ;  but  I  was  most  surprised  to  see  the  walls 
almost  covered  with  little  distiches  of  Turkish  verse,  wrote 
with  pencils.  I  made  my  interpreter  explain  them  to  me,  and 
I  found  several  of  them  very  well  turned ;  though  I  easily  be- 
lieved him,  that  they  had  lost  much  of  their  beauty  in  the 
translation.     One  was  literally  thus  in  English  : 

We  come  into  this  world  ;  we  lodge,  and  we  depart  • 
He  never  goes,  that 's  lodged  within  my  heart. 


92  LETTERS      TO 

The  rest  of  our  journey  was  through  fine  painted  meadows, 
by  the  side  of  the  sea  of  Marmora,  the  ancient  Propontis.  We 
lay  the  next  night  at  Selivrea,  anciently  a  noble  town.  It  is 
now  a  good  sea-port,  and  neatly  built  enough,  and  has  a  bridge 
of  thirty-two  arches.  Here  is  a  famous  Greek  church.  I  had 
given  one  of  my  coaches  to  a  Greek  lady,  who  desired  the 
conveniency  of  traveling  with  me ;  she  designed  to  pay  her 
devotions,  and  I  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  of  going  with  her. 
I  found  it  an  ill-built  edifice,  set  out  with  the  same  sort  of  orna- 
ments, but  less  rich,  as  the  Roman  Catholic  churches.  They 
showed  me  a  saint's  body,  where  I  threw  a  piece  of  money ; 
and  a  picture  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  drawn  by  the  hand  of  St. 
Luke,  very  little  to  the  credit  of  his  painting ;  but,  however, 
the  finest  Madonna  of  Italy  is  not  more  famous  for  her  miracles. 
The  Greeks  have  a  monstrous  taste  in  their  pictures,  which, 
for  more  finery,  are  always  drawn  upon  a  gold  ground.  You 
may  imagine  what  a  good  air  this  has ;  but  they  have  no  notion 
either  of  shade  or  proportion.  They  have  a  bishop  here,  who 
officiated  in  his  purple  robe,  and  sent  me  a  candle  almost  as 
big  as  myself  for  a  present,  when  I  was  at  my  lodging. . 

We  lay  that  night  at  a  town  called  Bujuk  Checkmedji,  or 
Great  Bridge  ;  and  the  night  following,  at  Kujuk  Checkmedji, 
or  Little  Bridge ;  in  a  very  pleasant  lodging,  formerly  a  monas- 
tery of  dervises,  having  before  it  a  large  court,  encompassed 
with  marble  cloisters,  with  a  good  fountain  in  the  middle. 
The  prospect  from  this  place,  and  the  gardens  round  it,  is  the 
most  agreeable  I  have  seen  ;  and  shows  that  monks,  of  all  re- 
ligioi  s,  know  how  to  choose  their  retirements.  'Tis  now  be- 
longing to  a  hogia  or  schoolmaster,  who  teaches  boys  here. 
I  asked  him  to  show  me  his  own  apartment,  and  was  surprised 
to  see  him  point  to  a  tall  cypress-tree  in  the  garden,  on  the  top 
of  which  was  a  place  for  a  bed  for  himself,  and  a  little  lower, 
one  for  his  wife  and  two  children,  who  slept  there  every  night. 
I  was  so  much  diverted  with  the  fancy,  I  resolved  to  examine 
his  nest  nearer ;  but,  after  going  up  fifty  steps,  I  found  I  had 
still  fifty  to  go  up,  and  then  I  must  climb  from  branch  to 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  93 

branch,  with  some  hazard  of  my  neck.     I  thought  it,  therefore, 
the  best  way  to  come  down  again. 

We  arrived  the  next  day  at  Constantinople  ;  but  I  can  yet 
tell  you  very  little  of  it,  all  my  time  having  been  taken  up  with 
receiving  visits,  which  are,  at  least,  a  very  good  entertainment 
to  the  eyes,  the  young  women  being  all  beauties,  and  their 
beauty  highly  improved  by  the  high  taste  of  their  dress.  Our 
palace  is  in  Pera,  which  is  no  more  a  suburb  of  Constantinople 
than  Westminster  is  a  suburb  to  London.  All  the  embassa- 
dors are  lodged  very  near  each  other.  One  part  of  our  house 
shows  us  the  port,  the  city,  and  the  seraglio,  and  the  distant 
hills  of  Asia ;  perhaps,  all  together,  the  most  beautiful  prospect 
in  the  world. 

A  certain  French  author  says,  "  Constantinople  is  twice  as  big 
as  Paris."  Mr.  Wortley  is  unwilling  to  own  it  is  bigger  than 
London,  though  I  confess  it  appears  to  me  to  be  so ;  but  I 
don't  believe  it  is  so  populous.  The  burying-fields  about  it 
are  certainly  much  larger  than  the  whole  city.  It  is  surprising 
what  a  vast  deal  of  land  is  lost  this  way  in  Turkey.  Some- 
times I  have  seen  burying-places  of  several  miles,  belonging  to 
very  inconsiderable  villages,  which  were  formerly  great  towns, 
and  retain  no  other  mark  of  their  ancient  grandeur  than  this 
dismal  one.  On  no  occasion  do  they  ever  remove  a  stone  that 
serves  for  a  monument.  Some  of  them  are  costly  enough, 
being  of  very  fine  marble.  They  set  up  a  pillar,  with  a  carved 
turban  on  the  top  of  it,  to  the  memory  of  a  man ;  and,  as  the 
turbans,  by  their  different  shapes,  show  the  quality  or  pro- 
fession, 'tis  in  a  manner  putting  up  the  arms  of  the  deceased  ; 
besides,  the  pillar  commonly  bears  an  inscription  in  gold 
letters.  The  ladies  have  a  simple  pillar,  without  other  orna- 
ment, except  those  that  die  unmarried,  who  have  a  rose  on 
the  top  of  their  monument.  The  sepulchers  of  particular  fam- 
ilies are  railed  in,  and  planted  round  with  trees.  Those  of 
the  sultans,  and  some  great  men,  have  lamps  constantly  burn- 
ing in  them. 

When  I  spoke  of  their  religion,  I  forgot  to  mention  two  par- 


94  LETTERS      TO 

ticularities,  one  of  which  I  have  read  of,  but  it  seemed  so  odd 
to  me,  I  could  not  believe  it ;  yet  'tis  certainly  true :  that  when 
a  man  has  divorced  his  wife  in  the  most  solemn  manner,  he 
can  take  her  again,  upon  no  other  terms  than  permitting 
another  man  to  pass  a  night  with  her ;  and  there  are  some 
examples  of  those  who  have  submitted  to  this  law,  rather  than 
not  have  back  their  beloved.  The  other  point  of  doctrine  is 
very  extraordinary.  Any  woman  that  dies  unmarried  is  looked 
upon  to  die  in  a  state  of  reprobation.  To  confirm  this  belief, 
they  reason,  that  the  end  of  the  creation  of  woman  is  to  in- 
crease and  multiply  ;  and  that  she  is  only  properly  employed 
in  the  works  of  her  calling  when  she  is  bringing  forth  chil- 
dren, or  taking  care  of  them,  which  are  all  the  virtues  that 
God  expects  from  her.  And,  indeed,  their  way  of  life,  which 
shuts  them  out  of  all  public  commerce,  does  not  permit  them 
any  other.  Our  vulgar  notion,  that  they  don't  own  women  to 
have  any  souls,  is  a  mistake.  'Tis  true  they  say  they  are  not 
of  so  elevated  a  kind,  and  therefore  must  not  hope  to  be  ad- 
mitted into  the  paradise  appointed  for  the  men,  who  are  to  be 
entertained  by  celestial  beauties.  But  there  is  a  place  of  hap- 
piness destined  for  souls  of  the  inferior  order,  where  all  good 
women  are  to  be  in  eternal  bliss.  Many  of  them  are  very  su- 
perstitious, and  will  not  remain  widows  ten  days,  for  fear  of 
dying  in  the  reprobate  state  of  an  useless  creature.  But  those 
that  like  their  liberty,  and  are  not  slaves  to  their  religion,  con- 
tent themselves  with  marrying  when  they  are  afraid  of  dying. 
This  is  a  piece  of  theology  very  different  from  that  which 
teaches  nothing  to  be  more  acceptable  to  God  than  a  vow  of 
perpetual  virginity ;  which  divinity  is  most  rational,  I  leave 
you  to  determine. 

I  have  already  made  some  progress  in  a  collection  of  Greek 
.medals.  Here  are  several  professed  antiquaries  who  are  ready 
to  serve  any  body  that  desires  them.  But  you  can  not  imagine 
how  they  stare  in  my  face  when  I  inquire  about  them,  as  if 
nobody  was  permitted  to  seek  after  medals  till  they  were  grown 
a  piece  of  antiquity  themselves.    I  have  got  some  very  valuable 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  95 

ones  of  the  Macedonian  kings,  particularly  one  of  Perseus,  sj 
lively,  I  fancy  I  can  see  all  his  ill  qualities  in  his  face.  I  have 
a  porphyry  head  finely  cut,  of  the  true  Greek  sculpture ;  but  who 
it  represents  is  to  be  guessed  at  by  the  learned  when  I  return. 
For  you  are  not  to  suppose  these  antiquaries  (who  are  all 
Greeks)  know  any  thing.  Their  trade  is  only  to  sell ;  they  have 
correspondents  at  Aleppo,  Grand  Cairo,  in  Arabia,  and  Pales- 
tine, who  send  them  all  they  can  find,  and  very  often  great 
heaps  that  are  only  fit  to  melt  into  pans  and  kettles.  They  get 
the  best  price  they  can  for  them,  without  knowing  those  that 
are  valuable  from  those  that  are  not.  Those  that  pretend  to 
skill,  generally  find  out  the  image  of  some  saint  in  the  medals 
of  the  Greek  cities.  One  of  them  showing  me  the  figure  of  a 
Pallas,  with  a  victory  in  her  hand  on  a  reverse,  assured  me  it 
was  the  Virgin  holding  a  crucifix.  The  same  man  offered  me 
the  head  of  a  Socrates  on  a  sardonyx ;  and,  to  enhance  the 
value,  gave  him  the  title  of  Saint  Augustine. 

I  have  bespoken  a  mummy,  which  I  hope  will  come  safe  to 
my  hands,  notwithstanding  the  misfortune  that  befell  a  very  fine 
one,  designed  for  the  King  of  Sweden.  He  gave  a  great  price 
for  it,  and  the  Turks  took  it  into  their  heads  that  he  must  hav* 
some  considerable  project  depending  upon  it.  They  fancied  it 
the  body  of  God  knows  who  ;  and  that  the  state  of  their  empire 
mystically  depended  on  the  conservation  of  it.  Some  old 
prophecies  were  remembered  upon  this  occasion,  and  the  mum- 
my was  committed  prisoner  to  the  Seven  Towers,  where  it  has 
remained  under  close  confinement  ever  since  :  I  dare  not  try 
my  interest  in  so  considerable  a  point  as  the  release  of  it ;  but 
I  hope  mine  will  pass  without  examination. 


LETTER  XII. 

Belgrade  Village,  June  11,  0.  S. 
I  heartily  beg  your  ladyship's  pardon  ;  but  I  really  could 
not  forbear  laughing  heartily  at  your  letter,  and  the  commis- 
sions you  are  pleased  to  honor  me  with. 


96  LETTERS      TO 

You  desire  me  to  buy  you  a  Greek  slave,  who  is  to  be  mis- 
tress of  a  thousand  good  qualities.  The  Greeks  are  subjects, 
and  not  slaves.  Those  who  are  to  be  bought  in  that  manner 
are  either  such  as  are  taken  in  war,  or  stolen  by  the  Tartars 
from  Russia,  Circassia,  or  Georgia,  and  are  such  miserable, 
awkward  poor  wretches,  you  would  not  think  any  of  them 
worthy  to  be  your  house-maids.  'Tis  true  that  many  thou- 
sands were  taken  in  the  Morea  ;  but  they  have  been,  most  of 
them,  redeemed  by  the  charitable  contributions  of  the  Chris- 
tians, or  ransomed  by  their  own  relations  at  Venice.  The  fine 
slaves  that  wait  upon  the  great  ladies,  or  serve  the  pleasures 
of  the  great  men,  are  all  bought  at  the  age  of  eight  or  nine 
years  old,  and  educated  with  great  care,  to  accomplish  them 
in  singing,  dancing,  embroidery,  etc.  They  are  commonly 
Circassians,  and  their  patron  never  sells  them,  except  it  is  as  a 
punishment  for  some  very  great  fault.  If  ever  they  grow  weary 
of  them,  they  either  present  them  to  a  friend,  or  give  them 
their  freedom.  Those  that  are  exposed  to  sale  at  the  markets 
are  always  either  guilty  of  some  crime,  or  so  entirely  worth- 
less that  they  are  of  no  use  at  all.  I  am  afraid  you  will 
doubt  the  truth  of  this  account,  which  I  own  is  very  different 
from  our  common  notions  in  England ;  but  it  is  no  less  truth 
for  all  that. 

Your  whole  letter  is  full  of  mistakes  from  one  end  to  the 
other.  I  see  you  have  taken  your  ideas  of  Turkey  from  that 
worthy  author  Dumont,  who  has  wrote  with  equal  ignorance 
and  confidence.  'Tis  a  particular  pleasure  to  me  here  to  read 
the  voyages  to  the  Levant,  which  are  generally  so  far  removed 
from  truth,  and  so  full  of  absurdities,  I  am  very  well  diverted 
with  them.  They  never  fail  giving  you  an  account  of  the. 
women,  whom,  'tis  certain,  they  never  saw,  and  talking  very 
wisely  of  the  genius  of  the  men,  into  whose  company  they 
are  never  admitted ;  and  very  often  describe  mosques,  which 
they  dare  not  even  peep  into.  The  Turks  are  very  proud 
and  will  not  converse  with  a  stranger  they  are  not  assured  is 
considerable  in  his  own  country.     I  speak  of  the  men  of  dis- 


HER      SISTER     AND      FRIENDS.  97 

tinction  ;  for,  as  to  the  ordinary  fellows,  you  may  imagine 
what  ideas  their  conversation  can  give  of  the  general  genius 
of  the  people. 

As  to  the  balm  of  Mecca,  I  will  certainly  send  you  some ; 
but  it  is  not  so  easily  got  as  you  suppose  it,  and  I  can  not,  in 
conscience,  advise  you  to  make  use  of  it.  I  know  not  how  it 
somes  to  have  such  universal  applause.  All  the  ladies  of  my 
acquaintance  at  London  and  Vienna  have  begged  me  to  send 
pots  of  it  to  them.  I  have  had  a  present  of  a  small  quantity 
(which,  I  '11  assure  you,  is  very  valuable)  of  the  best  sort,  and 
with  great  joy  applied  it  to  my  face,  expecting  some  wonderful 
effect  to  my  advantage.  The  next  morning  the  change  indeed 
was  wonderful ;  my  face  was  swelled  to  a  very  extraordinary 

size,  and  all  over  as  red  as  my  Lady  H 's.    It  remained  in 

this  lamentable  state  three  days,  during  which  you  may  be 
sure  I  passed  my  time  very  ill.  I  believed  it  would  never  be 
otherwise ;  and,  to  add  to  my  mortification,  Mr.  Wortley  re- 
proached my  indiscretion  without  ceasing.  However,  my  face 
is  since  in  statu  quo  ;  nay,  I  am  told  by  the  ladies  here,  that 
it  is  much  mended  by  the  operation,  which  I  confess  I  can 
not  perceive  in  my  looking-glass.  Indeed,  if  one  were  to 
form  an  opinion  of  this  balm  from  their  faces,  one  should 
think  very  well  of  it.  They  all  make  use  of  it,  and  have  the 
loveliest  bloom  in  the  world.  For  my  part  I  never  intend  to 
endure  the  pain  of  it  again ;  let  my  complexion  take  its  nat- 
ural course,  and  decay  in  its  own  due  time.  I  have  very  little 
esteem  for  medicines  of  this  nature ;  but  do  as  you  please, 
madam ;  only  remember  before  you  use  it,  that  your  face  will 
not  be  such  as  you  will  care  to  show  in  the  drawing-room  for 
some  days  after. 


LETTER  XIII. 

Pera,  March  10,  0.  S,  1717. 
1  have  not  written  to  you,  dear  sister,  these  many  months — • 
a  great  piece  of  self-denial.     But  I  know  not  where  to  direct ; 

5 


98  LETTERS     TO 

or  what  part  of  the  world  you  are  in.  I  have  received  no 
letter  from  you  since  that  short  note  of  April  last,  in  which 
you  tell  me  that  you  are  on  the  point  of  leaving  England,  and 
promise  me  a  direction  for  the  place  you  stay  in ;  but  T  have 
in  vain  expected  it  till  now :  and  now  I  only  learn  from  the 
gazette  that  you  are  returned,  which  induces  me  to  venture 
this  letter  to  your  house  at  London.  I  had  rather  ten  of  my 
letters  should  be  lost  than  you  imagine  I  don't  write ;  and  I 
think  it  is  hard  fortune  if  one  in  ten  don't  reach  you.  How- 
ever, I  am  resolved  to  keep  the  copies  as  testimonies  of  my 
inclination  to  give  you,  to  the  utmost  of  my  power,  all  the 
diverting  parts  of  my  travels,  while  you  are  exempt  from  all 
the  fatigues  and  inconveniences. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  I  wish  you  joy  of  your  niece ;  for  I 
was  brought  to  bed  of  a  daughter*  five  weeks  ago.  I  don't 
mention  this  as  one  of  my  diverting  .adventures  ;  though  I 
must  own  that  it  is  not  half  so  mortifying  here  as  in  England ; 
there  being  as  much  difference  as  there  is  between  a  little  cold 
in  the  head,  which  sometimes  happens  here,  and  the  consump- 
tion cough,  so  common  in  London.  Nobody  keeps  their 
house  a  month  for  lying-in ;  and  I  am  not  so  fond  of  any  of 
t/  our  customs  as  to  retain  them  when  they  are  not  necessary. 
I  returned  my  visits  at  three  weeks'  end  ;  and,  about  four  days 
ago,  crossed  the  sea,  which  divides  this  place  from  Constanti- 
nople, to  make  a  new  one,  where  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
pick  up  many  curiosities. 

I  went  to  see  the  Sultana  Hafiten,  favorite  of  the  late  Em- 
peror Mustapha,  who,  you  know  (or  perhaps  you  don't  know) 
was  deposed  by  his  brother,  the  reigning  Sultan,  and  died  a 
few  weeks  after,  being  poisoned,  as  it  was  generally  believed. 
This  lady  was,  immediately  after  his  death,  saluted  with  an 
absolute  order  to  leave  the  seraglio,  and  choose  herself  a  hus 
band  among  the  great  men  at  the  Porte.  I  suppose  you  may 
imagine  her  overjoyed  at  this  proposal.  Quite  the  contrary. 
These  women,  who  are  called,  and  esteem  themselves,  queenr 
*  Mary,  afterward  married  to  John,  Earl  of  Bute. 


HER     SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  99 

look  upon  this  liberty  as  the  greatest  disgrace  and  affront 
that  can  happen  to  them.  She  threw  herself  at  the  Sultan's 
feet,  and  begged  him  to  poniard  her,  rather  than  use  his 
brother's  widow  with  contempt.  She  represented  to  him,  in 
agonies  of  sorrow,  that  she  was  privileged  from  this  misfor- 
tune, by  having  brought  five  princes  into  the  Ottoman  fam- 
ily ;  but  all  the  boys  being  dead,  and  only  one  girl  surviving, 
this  excuse  was  not  received,  and  she  was  compelled  to  make 
her  choice.  She  chose  Bekir  Effendi,  then  secretary  of  state, 
and  above  fourscore  years  old,  to  convince  the  world  that  she 
firmly  intended  to  keep  the  vow  she  had  made,  of  never  suf- 
fering a  second  husband  to  approach  her  bed  ;  and  since  she 
must  honor  some  subject  so  far  as  to  be  called  his  wife,  she 
would  choose  him  as  a  mark  of  her  gratitude,  since  it  was 
he  that  had  presented  her,  at  the  age  of  ten  years,  to  her  last 
lord.  But  she  never  permitted  him  to  pay  her  one  visit ; 
though  it  is  now.  fifteen  years  she  has  been  in  his  house, 
where  she  passes  her  time  in  uninterrupted  mourning,  with  a 
constancy  very  little  known  in  Christendom,  especially  in  a 
widow  of  one  and  twenty,  for  she  is  now  but  thirty-six.  She 
has  no  black  eunuchs  for  her  guard,  her  husband  being  obliged 
to  respect  her  as. a  queen,  and  not  to  inquire  at  all  into  what 
is  done  in  her  apartment. 

I  was  led  into  a  large  room,  with  a  sofa  the  whole  length  of 
it,  adorned  with  white  marble  pillars  like  a  ruelle,  covered 
with  pale-blue  figured  velvet  on  a  silver  ground,  with  cushions 
of  the  same,  where  I  was  desired  to  repose  till  the  Sultana 
appeared,  who  had  contrived  this  manner  of  reception  to  avoid 
rising  up  at  my  entrance,  though  she  made  me  an  inclination 
of  her  head  when  I  rose  up  to  her.  I  was  very  glad  to  ob- 
serve a  lady  that  had  been  distinguished  by  the  favor  of  an 
emperor,  to  whom  beauties  were,  every  day,  presented  from 
all  parts  of  the  world.  But  she  did  not  seem  to  me  to  have 
ever  been  half  so  beautiful  as  the  fair  Fatima  I  saw  at  Adria- 
nople ;  though  she  had  the  remains  of  a  fine  face,  more  de- 
cayed by  sorrow  than  time.     But  her  dress  was  something  so 


100  LETTERS     TO 

surprisingly  rich  that  I  can  not  forbear  describing  it  to  you. 
She  wore  a  vest  called  donalma,  which  differs  from  a  caftan 
by  longer  sleeves,  and  folding  over  at  the  bottom.  It  was  of 
purple  cloth,  strait  to  her  shape,  and  thick  set,  on  each  side, 
down  to  her  feet,  and  round  the  sleeves,  with  pearls  of  the 
best  water,  of  the,  same  size  as  their  buttons  commonly  are. 
You  must  not  suppose  that  I  mean  as  large  as  those  of  my 
Lord ,  but  about  the  bigness  of  a  pea ;  and  to  these  but- 
tons large  loops  of  diamonds,  in  the  form  of  those  gold  loops 
so  common  on  birth-day  coats.  This  habit  was  tied  at  the 
waist  with  two  large  tassels  of  smaller  pearls,  and  round  the 
arms  embroidered  with  large  diamonds.  Her  shift  was  fast- 
ened at  the  bottom  with  a  great  diamond,  shaped  like  a  loz- 
enge ;  her  girdle  as  broad  as  the  broadest  English  ribbon, 
entirely  covered  with  diamonds.  Round  her  neck  she  wore 
three  chains  which  reached  to  her  knees  :  one  of  large  pearl, 
at  the  bottom  of  which  hung  a  fine-colored  emerald,  as  big  as 
a  turkey-egg ;  another,  consisting  of  two  hundred  emeralds, 
closely  joined  together,  of  the  most  lively  green,  perfectly 
matched,  every  one  as  large  as  a  half-crown  piece,  and  as 
thick  as  three  crown  pieces  ;  and  another  of  small  emeralds, 
perfectly  round.  But  her  ear-rings  eclipsed  all  the  rest.  They 
were  two  diamonds,  shaped  exactly  like  pears,  as  large  as  a 
big  hazel-nut.  Round  her  kalpac  she  had  four  strings  of 
pearl  the  whitest  and  the  most  perfect  in  the  world,  at  least 
enough  to  make  four  necklaces,  every  one  as  large  as  the 
Duchess  of  Marlborough's,  and  of  the  same  shape,  fastened 
with  two  roses,  consisting  of  a  large  ruby  for  the  middle 
stone,  and  round  them  twenty  drops  of  clean  diamonds  to 
each.  Besides  this,  her  head-dress  was  covered  with  bodkins 
of  emeralds  and  diamonds.  She  wore  large  diamond  brace- 
lets, and  had  five  rings  on  her  fingers  (except  Mr.  Pitt's)  the 
largest  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  It  is  for  jewelers  to  compute 
the  value  of  these  things  ;  but,  according  to  the  common  esti- 
mation of  jewels  in  our  part  of  the  world,  her  whole  dress 
must  be  worth  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  sterling.  ,  This  T 


HER      SISTER.      AND      FRIENDS.  101 

am  sure  of,  that  no  European  queen  has  half  the  quantity ; 
and  the  empress's  jewels,  though  very  fine,  would  look  very 
mean  near  hers. 

She  gave  me  a  dinner  of  fifty  dishes  of  meat,  which  (after 
their  fashion)  were  placed  on  the  table  but  one  at  a  time,  and 
was  extremely  tedious.  But  the  magnificence  of  her  table 
answered  very  well  to  that  of  her  dress.  The  knives  were  of 
gold,  and  the  hafts  set  with  diamonds.  But  the  piece  of  lux- 
ury which  grieved  my  eyes,  was  the  table-cloth  and  napkins, 
which  were  all  tiffany,  embroidered  with  silk  and  gold,  in  the 
finest  manner,  in  natural  flowers.  It  was  with  the  utmost  re- 
gret that  I  made  use  of  these  costly  napkins,  which  were  as 
finely  wrought  as  the  finest  handkerchiefs  that  ever  came  out 
of  this  country.  You  may  be  sure  that  they  were  entirely 
spoiled  before  dinner  was  over.  The  sherbet  (which  is  the 
liquor  they  drink  at  meals)  was  served  in  china  bowls ;  but 
the  covers  and  salvers  massy  gold.  After  dinner,  water  was 
brought  in  gold  basins,  and  towels  of  the  same  kind  with  the 
napkins,  which  I  very  unwillingly  wiped  my  hands  upon ;  and 
coffee  was  served  in  china,  with  gold  soucoups.* 

The  Sultana  seemed  in  a  very  good  humor,  and  talked  to 
me  with  the  utmost  civility.  I  did  not  omit  this  opportunity 
of  learning  all  that  I  possibly  could  of  the  seraglio,  which  is 
so  entirely  unknown  among  us.  She  assured  me  that  the 
story  of  the  sultan's  throwing  a  handkerchief  is  altogether 
fabulous  ;  and  the  manner,  upon  that  occasion,  no  other  than 
this :  He  sends  the  hyslar  aga,  to  signify  to  the  lady  the 
honor  he  intends  her.  She  is  immediately  complimented 
upon  it  by  the  others,  and  led  to  the  bath,  where  she  is  per- 
fumed and  dressed  in  the  most  magnificent  and  becoming 
manner.  The  emperor  precedes  his  visit  by  a  royal  present, 
and  then  comes  into  her  apartment :  neither  is  there  any  such 
thing  as  her  creeping  in  at  the  bed's  foot.  She  said,  that  the 
first  he  made  choice  of  was  always  afterward  the  first  in  rank, 
and  not  the  mother  of  the  eldest  son,  as  other  writers  would 
*  Saucers. 


102  LETTERS      TO 

make  us  believe.  Sometimes  the  sultan  diverts  himself  in  the 
company  of  all  his  ladies,  who  stand  in  a  circle  round  him. 
And  she  confessed  they  were  ready  to  die  with  envy  and 
jealousy  of  the  happy  she  that  he  distinguished  by  any  ap- 
pearance of  preference.  But  this  seemed  to  me  neither  bet- 
ter nor  worse  than  the  circles  in  most  courts,  where  the 
gvance  of  the  monarch  is  watched,  and  every  smile  is  waited 
for  with  impatience,  and  envied  by  those  who  can  not  ob- 
tain it. 

She  never  mentioned  the  Sultan  without  tears  in  her  eyes, 
yet  she  seemed  very  fond  of  the  discourse.  "  My  past  hap- 
piness," said  she,  "  appears  a  dream  to  me.  Yet  I  can  not 
forget  that  I  was  beloved  by  the  greatest  and  most  lovely  of 
mankind.  I  was  chosen  from  all  the  rest,  to  make  all  his 
campaigns  with  him ;  and  I  would  not  survive  him,  if  I  was 
not  passionately  fond  of  the  princess  my  daughter.  Yet  all 
my  tenderness  for  her  was  hardly  enough  to  make  me  preserve 
my  life.  When  I  left  him,  I  passed  a  whole  twelvemonth 
without  seeing  the  light.  Time  hath  softened  my  despair  ;  yet 
I  now  pass  some  days  every  week  in  tears,  devoted  to  the  mem- 
ory of  my  Sultan." 

There  was  no  affectation  in  these  words.  It  was  easy  to  see 
she  was  in  a  deep  melancholy,  though  her  good  humor  made 
her  willing  to  divert  me. 

She  asked  me  to  walk  in  her  garden,  and  one  of  her  slaves 
immediately  brought  her  a  pellice  of  rich  brocade  lined  with 
sables.  I  waited  on  her  into  the  garden,  which  had  nothing  in 
it  remarkable  but  the  fountains ;  and  from  thence  she  showed 
me  all  her  apartments.  In  her  bed-chamber  her  toilet  was 
displayed,  consisting  of  two  looking-glasses,  the  frames  covered 
with  pearls,  and  her  night  talpoche  set  with  bodkins  of  jewels, 
and  near  it  three  vests  of  fine  sables,  every  one  of  which  is,  at 
least,  worth  a  thousand  dollars  (two  hundred  pounds  English 
money).  I  don't  doubt  but  these  rich  habits  were  purposely 
placed  in  sight,  though  they  seemed  negligently  thrown  on  the 
sofa.  When  I  took  my  leave  of  her,  I  was  complimented  with 
/ 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  103 

perfumes,  as  at  the  Grand- Vizier's,  and  presented  with  a  very 
fine  embroidered  handkerchief.  Her  slaves  were  to  the  num- 
ber of  thirty,  besides  ten  little  ones,  the  oldest  not  above  seven 
years  old.  These  were  the  most  beautiful  girls  I  ever  saw,  all 
richly  dressed ;  and  I  observed  that  the  Sultana  took  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure  in  these  lovely  children,  which  is  a  vast  ex- 
pense ;  for  there  is  not  a  handsome  girl  of  that  age  to  be  bought 
under  a  hundred  pounds  sterling.  They  wore  little  garlands 
of  flowers,  and  their  own  hair,  braided,  which  was  all  their 
head-dress;  but  their  habits  were  all  of  gold  stuffs.  These 
served  her  coffee,  kneeling ;  brought  water  when  she  washed, 
etc.  It  is  a  great  part  of  the  work  of  the  elder  slaves  to  take 
care  of  these  young  girls,  to  learn  them  to  embroider,  and  to 
serve  them  as  carefully  as  if  they  were  children  of  the  family. 
Now,  do  you  imagine  I  have  entertained  you,  all  this  while, 
with  a  relation  that  has,  at  least,  received  many  embellish- 
ments from  my  hand  ?  This,  you  will  say,  is  but  too  like  the 
Arabian  Tales  :  these  embroidered  napkins,  and  a  jewel  as 
large  as  a  turkey's  egg : — You  forget,  dear  sister,  those  verv 
tales  were  written  by  an  author  of  this  country,  and  (except- 
ing the  enchantments)  are  a  real  representation  of  the  manners 
here.  We  travelers  are  in  very  hard  circumstances  :  if  we  say 
nothing  but  what  has  been  said  before  us,  we  are  dull,  and 
-we' have  observed  nothing  ;  if  we  tell  any  thing  new,  we  are 
laughed  at  as  fabulous  and  romantic,  not  allowing  either  for 
the  difference  of  ranks,  which  affords  difference  of  company, 
or  more  curiosity,  or  the  change  of  customs,  that  happen  every 
twenty  years  in  every  country.  But  the  truth  is,  people  judge 
of  travelers,  exactly  with  the  same  candor,  good  nature,  and 
impartiality  they  judge  of  their  neighbors  upon  all  occasions. 
/For  my  part,  if  I  live  to  return  among  you,  I  am  so  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  morals  of  all  my  dear  friends  and  acquaintances, 
that  I  am  resolved  to  tell  them  nothing  at  all,  to  avoid  the  im- 
putation (which  their  chanty  would  certainly  incline  them  to) 
of  my  telling  too  much.  (  But  I  depend  upon  your  knowing 
me  enough,  to  believe  whatever  I  seriously  assert  for  truth ; 


104  LETTERS      TO 

though  I  give  you  leave  to  be  surprised  at  an  account  so  new 
to  you. 

But  what  would  you  say  if  I  told  you  that  I  have  been  in  a 
harem,  where  the  winter  apartment  was  wainscoted  with  inlaid 
work  of  mother-of-pearl,  ivory  of  different  colors,  and  olive- 
wood,  exactly  like  the  little  boxes  you  have  seen  brought  out  of 
this  country ;  and  in  whose  rooms  designed  for  summer,  the 
walls  are  all  crusted  with  japan  china,  the  roofs  gilt,  and  the 
floors  spread  with  the  finest  Persian  carpets  ?  Yet  there  is 
nothing  more  true ;  such  is  the  palace  of  my  lovely  friend, 
the  fair  Fatima,  whom  I  was  acquainted  with  at  Adrianople.  1 
went  to  visit  her  yesterdey ;  and,  if  possible,  she  appeared  to 
me  handsomer  than  before.  She  met  me  at  the  door  of  her 
chamber,  and,  giving  me  her  hand  with  the  best  grace  in  the 
world.  "  You  Christian  ladies,"  said  she,  with  a  smile  that 
made  her  as  beautiful  as  an  angel,  "  have  the  reputation  of  in- 
constancy, and  I  did  not  expect,  whatever  goodness  you  ex- 
pressed for  me  at  Adrianople,  that  I  should  ever  see  you  again. 
But  I  am  now  convinced  that  I  have  really  the  happiness  of 
pleasing  you  ;  and,  if  you  knew  how  I  speak  of  you  among  our 
ladies,  you  wrould  be  assured  that  you  do  me  justice  in  making 
me  your  friend."  She  placed  me  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  and 
I  spent  the  afternoon  in  her  conversation,  with  the  greatest 
pleasure  in  the  world. 


LETTER  XIV. 

Pera,  March  16,  0.  S.,  1*711. 
I  am  extremely  pleased,  my  dear  lady,  that  you  have  at 
length  found  a  commission  for  roe  that  I  can  answrer  without 
disappointing  your  expectations ;  though  I  must  tell  you  that 
it  is  not  so  easy  as  perhaps  you  think  it ;  and  that  if  my  curi- 
osity had  not  been  more  diligent  than  any  other  stranger's  has 
ever  yet  been,  I  must  have  answered  you  vvith  an  excuse,  as  I 
was  forced  to  do  when  you  desired  me  to  buy  you  a  Greek 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS. 


105 


slave.  I  have  got  for  you,  as  you  desire,  a  Turkish  love-letter, 
which  I  have  put  into  a  little  box,  and  ordered  the  captain  of 
the  Smyrniote  to  deliver  it  to  you  with  this  letter.  The  trans- 
lation of  it  is  literally  as  follows  :  The  first  piece  you  should 
pull  out  of  the  purse  is  a  little  pearl,  which  is  in  Turkish  called 
Ingi,  and  must  be  understood  in  this  manner : 


Ingi, 

Sensin  Guzelern  gingi. 

Pearl, 

Fairest  of  the  young. 

Caremfil, 

Caremfilsen  cararen  yok. 

Glove, 

Conge  gulsum  timarin  yok. 

Benseny  chok  than  severim. 

Senin  benden,  haberin  yok. 

You  are  as  slender  as  the  clove  ! 

You  are  an  unblown  rose  ! 

I  have  long  loved  you,  and  you  have  not  known  it! 

PuL 

Derdime  derman  bu.1. 

Jonquil, 

Have  pity  on  my  passion  I 

Kihat, 

Birlerum  sahat  sahat. 

Paper, 

I  faint  every  hour  1 

Ermus, 

Ver  bixe  bir  umut. 

Pear, 

Give  me  some  hope. 

Jahun,  Derdinden  oldum  zabun. 

Soap,  I  am  sick  with  love. 

Chemur,  Ben  oliyim  size  umur. 

Coal,  May  I  die,  and  all  my  years  be  yours  t 

Gul,  Ben  aglarum  sen  gul. 

A  rose,  May  you  be  pleased,  and  your  sorrows  mine  I 

Hasir,  Oliim  sana  yazir. 

A  straw,  Suffer  me  to  be  your  slave. 

Jo  ho,  Ustune  bulunmaz  palm. 
Cloth,  Your  price  is  not  to  be  found. 

Tartsin,  Sen  ghel  ben  chekeim  senin  hartsin. 

Cinnamon,  Put  my  fortune  is  yours. 

Giro,  Esking-ilen  oldum  ghira. 

A  match,  I  burn,  I  burn  I  my  flame  consumes  me  ! 


106  LETTERS     TO 

Sirma,  Uzunu  benden  a  yirm&. 

Gold  thread,  Don't  turn  away  your  face  from  me. 


Satch, 
Hair; 

Bazmazum  tatch. 
Grown  of  my  head  ! 

Uzum, 
Grape, 

Benim  iki  Gruzum. 
My  two  eyes! 

Til, 

Gold  wire, 

Ulugorum  tez  ghel. 
I  die — come  quickly. 

And,  by  way 

Beber, 

Pepper, 

Bize  bir  dogm  haber. 
Send  me  an  answer. 

You  see  this  letter  is  all  in  verse,  and  I  can  assure  you 
there  is  as  much  fancy  shown  in  the  choice  of  them  as  in 
the  most  studied  expressions  of  our  letters  ;  there  being,  I  be- 
lieve, a  million  of  verses  designed  for  this  use.  There  is  no 
color,  no  flower,  no  weed,  no  fruit,  herb,  pebble,  or  feather,  that 
has  not  a  verse  belonging  to  it ;  and  you  may  quarrel,  re- 
proach, or  send  letters  of  passion,  friendship,  or  civility,  or  even 
of  news,  without  ever  inking  your  fingers. 

I  fancy  you  are  now  wondering  at  my  profound  learning  ; 
but,  alas  !  dear  madam,  I  am  almost  fallen  into  the  misfor- 
tune so  common  to  the  ambitious  ;  while  they  are  employed. 
on  distant  insignificant  conquests  abroad,  a  rebellion  starts 
up  at  home  :  I  am  in  great  danger  of  losing  my  English.  I 
find  'tis  not  half  so  easy  to  me  to  write  in  it  as  it  was  a 
twelvemonth  ago.  I  am  forced  to  study  for  expressions,  and 
must  leave  off  all  other  languages,  and  try  to  learn  my  mother 
tongue.  Human  understanding  is  as  much  limited  as  human 
power  or  human  strength.  The  memory  can  retain  but  a 
certain  number  of  images  ;  and  'tis  as  impossible  for  one  hu- 
man creature  to  be  perfect  master  of  ten  different  languages 
as  to  have  in  perfect  subjection  ten  different  kingdoms,  or  to 
fight  against  ten  men  at  a  time.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  at  last 
know  none  as  I  should  do.  I  live  in  a  place  that  very  well 
represents  the  tower  of  Babel :  in  Pera  they  speak  Turkish, 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS 


107 


Greek,  Hebrew,  Armenian,  Arabic,  Persian,  Russian,  Sclavo- 
nic, Wallachian,  German,  Dutch,  French,  English,  Italian, 
Hungarian ;  and,  what  is  worse,  there  are  ten  of  these  lan- 
guages spoken  in  my  own  family.  My  grooms  are  Arabs  ; 
my  footmen,  French,  English  and  Germans  ;  my  nurse  an  Ar- 
menian ;  my  housemaids  Russians ;  half  a  dozen  other  serv- 
ants, Greeks  ;  my  steward,  an  Italian  ;  my  janizaries,  Turks  ; 
so  that  I  live  in  the  perpetual  hearing  of  this  medley  of 
sounds,  which  produces  a  very  extraordinary  effect  upon  the 
people  that  are  born  here  ;  for  they  learn  all  these  languages 
at  the  same  time,  and  without  knowing  any  of  them  well 
enough  to  write  or  read  in  it.  There  are  very  few  men, 
women,  or  even  children,  here,  that  have  not  the  same  com- 
pass of  words  in  five  or  six  of  them.  I  know  myself  of  sev- 
eral infants  of  three  or  four  years  old,  that  speak  Italian, 
French,  Greek,  Turkish,  and  Russian,  which  last  they  learn  of 
their  nurses,  who  are  generally  of  that  country.  This  seems 
almost  incredible  to  you,  and  is,  in  my  mind,  one  of  the  most 
curious  things  in  this  country,  and  takes  off  very  much  from 
the  merit  of  our  ladies  who  set  up  for  such  extraordinary  ge- 
niuses, upon  the  credit  of  some  superficial  knowledge  of  French 
and  Italian. 

As  I  prefer  English  to  all  the  rest,  I  am  extremely  morti- 
fied at  the  daily  decay  of  it  in  my  head,  where  I  '11  assure  you 
(with  grief  of  heart)  it  is  reduced  to  such  a  small  number 
of  words  I  can  not  recollect  any  tolerable  phrase  to  conclude 
my  letter  with,  and  am  forced  to  tell  your  ladyship,  very 
bluntly,  that  I  am,  yours,  etc. 


LETTER  XV. 

Tunis,  July  31,  0.  S.,  1*718. 
I  left  Constantinople  the  sixth  of  the  last  month,  and  this 
is  the  first  post  from  whence  I  could  send  a  letter,  though 
I  have  often  wished  for  the  opportunity,  that  I  might  impart 


108  LETTERS      TO 

some  of  the  pleasure  I  found  in  this  voyage  through  the 
most  agreeable  part  of  the  world,  where  every  scene  presents 
me  some  poetical  idea. 

Warm'd  with  poetic  transport  I  survey 
The  immortal  islands,  and  the  well-known  sea. 
For  here  so  oft  the  muse  her  harp  has  strung, 
That  not  a  mountain  rears  its  head  unsung. 

I  beg  your  pardon  for  this  sally,  and  will,  if  I  can,  con- 
tinue the  rest  of  my  account  in  plain  prose.  The  second 
day  after  we  set  sail  we  passed  Gallipolis,  a  fair  city,  situated 
in  the  bay  of  Chersonesus,  and  much  respected  by  the  Turks, 
being  the  first  town  they  took  in  Europe.  At  five  the  next 
morning  we  anchored  in  the  Hellespont,  between  the  castles 
of  Sestos  and  Abydos,  now  called  the  Dardinelli.  These  are 
now  two  little  ancient  castles,  but  of  no  strength,  being  com- 
manded by  a  rising  ground  behind  them,  which  I  confess  I 
should  never  have  taken  notice  of  if  I  had  not  heard  it  ob- 
served by  our  captain  and  officers,  my  imagination  being 
wholly  employed  by  the  tragic  story  that  you  are  well  ac- 
quainted with  : 

The  swimming  lover,  and  the  nightly  bride,    ■ 
How  Hero  loved,  and  how  Leander  died. 

Verse  again  ! — I  am  certainly  infected  by  the  poetical  air  I 
have  passed  through.  That  of  Abydos  is  undoubtedly  very 
amorous,  since  that  soft  passion  betrayed  the  castle  into  the 
hands  of  the  Turks  who  besieged  it  in  the  reign  of  Orchanes. 
The  governor's  daughter  imagining  to  have  seen  her  future 
husband  in  a  dream  (though  I  don't  .find  she  had  either  slept 
upon  bride-cake,  or  kept  St.  Agnes's  fast),  fancied  she  saw 
the  dear  figure  in  the  form  of  one  of  her  besiegers  ;  and,  be- 
ing willing  to  obey  her  destiny,  tossed  a  note  to  him  over 
the  wall,  with  the  offer  of  her  person,  and  the  delivery  of  the 
castle.  He  showed  it  to  his  general,  who  consented  to  try 
the  sincerity  of  her  intentions,  and  withdrew  his  army,  order- 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  109 

ing  the  young  man  to  return  with  a  select  body  of  men  at 
midnight.  She  admitted  him  at  the  appointed  hour ;  he  de- 
stroyed the  garrison,  took  the  father  prisoner,  and  made  her 
his  wife.  This  town  is  in  Asia,  first  founded  by  the  Mile- 
sians. Sestos  is  in  Europe,  and  was  once  the  principal  city 
of  Chersonesus.  Since  I  have  seen  this  strait,  I  find  nothing 
improbable  in  the  adventure  of  Leander,  or  very  wonderful  in 
the  bridge  of  boats  of  Xerxes.  'Tis  so  narrow  'tis  not  sur- 
prising a  young  lover  should  attempt  to  swim,  or  an  ambi- 
tious king  try  to  pass  his  army  over  it.  But  then,  'tis  so 
subject  to  storms,  'tis  no  wonder  the  lover  perished,  and  the 
bridge  was  broken.  From  hence  we  had  a  full  view  of 
Mount  Ida, 

Where  Juno  once  caress'd  her  am'rous  Jove, 
And  the  world's  master  lay  subdued  by  love. 

Not  many  leagues'  sail  from  hence,  I  saw  the  point  of  land 
where  poor  old  Hecuba  was  buried ;  and  about  a  league  from 
that  place  is  Cape  Janizary,  the  famous  promontory  of  Sigaeum, 
where  we  anchored.  My  curiosity  supplied  me  with  strength 
to  climb  to  the  top  of  it  to  see  the  place  where  Achilles  was 
buried,  and  where  Alexander  ran  naked  round  his  tomb  in 
honor  of  him,  which  no  doubt  was  a  great  comfort  to  his  ghost. 
I  saw  there  the  ruins  of  a  very  large  city,  and  found  a  stone, 
on  which  Mr.  Wortley  plainly  distinguished  the  words  of 
SirJIAN  TIOAIN.  We  ordered  this  on  board  the  ship ;  but 
were  showed  others  much  more  curious  by  a  Greek  priest 
though  a  very  ignorant  fellow,  that  could  give  no  tolerable  ac- 
count of  any  thing.  On  each  side  the  door  of  this  little  church 
lie  two  large  stones,  about  ten  feet  long  each,  five  in  breadth, 
and  three  in  thickness.  That  on  the  right  is  a  very  fine  white 
marble,  the  side  of  it  beautifully  carved  in  bas-relief ;  it  repre- 
sents a  woman,  who  seems  to  be  designed  for  some  deity, 
sitting  on  a  chair  with  a  footstool,  and  before  her  another  wo- 
man weeping,  and  presenting  to  her  a  young  child  that  she  has 
in  her  arms,  followed  by  a  procession  of  women  with  children 


110  LETTERS     TO 

in  the  same  manner.  This  is  certainly  part  of  a  very  ancient 
tomb :  but  I  dare  not  pretend  to  give  the  true  explanation  of  it. 
On  the  stone,  on  the  left  side,  is  a  very  fair  inscription  ;  but  the 
Greek  is  too  ancient  for  Mr.  Wortley's  interpretation.  I  am 
very  sorry  not  to  have  the  original  in  my  possession,  which 
might  have  been  purchased  of  the  poor  inhabitants  for  a  small 
sum  of  money.  But  our  captain  assured  us  that  without  hav- 
ing machines  made  on  purpose,  'twas  impossible  to  bear  it  to 
the  sea-side ;  and,  when  it  was  there,  his  long-boat  would  not 
be  large  enough  to  hold  it.* 

The  ruins  of  this  great  city  are  now  inhabited  by  poor  Greek 
peasants,  who  wear  the  Sciote  habit,  the  women  being  in  short 
petticoats,  fastened  by  straps  round  their  shoulders,  and  large 
smock  sleeves  of  white  linen,  with  neat  shoes  and  stockings, 
and  on  their  heads  a  large  piece  of  muslin,  which  falls  in  large 
folds  on  their  shoulders.  One  of  my  countrymen,  Mr.  San- 
dysf  (whose  book  I  doubt  not  you  have  read,  as  one  of  the 
best  of  its  kind),  speaking  of  these  ruins,  supposes  them  to  have 
been  the  foundation  of  a  city  begun  by  Constantine,  before  his 
building  Byzantium ;  but  I  see  no  good  reason  for  that  imagin- 
ation, and  am  apt  to  believe  them  much  more  ancient. 

We  saw  very  plainly  from  this  promontory  the  river  Simois 
rolling  from  Mount  Ida,  and  running  through  a  very  spacious 
valley.  It  is  now  a  considerable  river,  and  is  called  Sim  ores ; 
it  is  joined  in  the  vale  by  the  Scamander,  which  appeared  a 
small  stream  half  choked  with  mud,  but  is  perhaps  large  in 
the  winter.    This  was  Xanthus  among  the  gods,  as  Homer  tells 

*  The  first-mentioned  of  these  marbles  is  engraved  in  the  Ionian 
Antiquities,  published  by  the  Dilettanti  Society,  and  described  by  Dr. 
Chandler  in  his  Tour  in  Asia  Minor.  The  second  bears  the  celebrated 
inscription  so  often  referred  to,  in  proof  of  the  Bovarpo^dov,  one  of  the 
most  ancient  forms  of  writing  among  the  Greeks.  For  accurate  accounts 
and  engravings  of  these  curiosities,  see  Chishull,  Shuckforth,  and  Chand- 
ler, Inscript.  Antiq.  Knight  on  the  G-reek  Alphabets,  etc. 

f  George  Sandys,  one  of  the  most  valuable  travelers  into  the  Le- 
vant, whose  work  had  reached  four  editions  in  the  reign  of  Charles  the 
First 


HER     SISTER     AND      FRIENDS.  Ill 

us ;  and  'tis  by  that  heavenly  name  the  nymph  Oenone  invokes 
it  in  her  epistle  to  Paris.  The  Trojan  virgins*  used  to  offer 
their  first  favors  to  it,  by  the  name  of  Scamander,  till  the  ad- 
venture which  Monsieur  de  la  Fontaine  has  told  so  agreeably 
abolished  that  heathenish  ceremony.  When  the  stream  is 
mingled  with  the  Simois,  they  run  together  to  the  sea. 

All  that  is  now  left  of  Troy  is  the  ground  on  which  it  stood ; 
for,  I  am  firmly  persuaded,  whatever  pieces  of  antiquity  may 
be  found  round  it  are  much  more  modern,  and  I  think  Strabo 
says  the  same  thing.  However,  there  is  some  pleasure  in 
seeing  the  valley  where  I  imagined  the  famous  duel  of  Menelaus 
and  Paris  had  been  fought,  and  where  the  greatest  city  in  the 
world  was  situated.  'Tis  certainly  the  noblest  situation  that 
can  be  found  for  the  head  of  a  great  empire,  much  to  be  pre- 
ferred to  that  of  Constantinople,  the  harbor  here  being  always 
convenient  for  ships  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  that  of 
Constantinople  inaccessible  almost  six  months  in  the  year, 
while  the  north  wind  reigns. 

North  of  the  promontory  of  Sigeum  we  saw  that  of  Khse- 
teum,  famed  for  the  sepulcher  of  Ajax.  While  I  viewed  these 
celebrated  fields  and  rivers,  I  admired  the  exact  geography  of 
Homer,  whom  I  had  in  my  hand.  Almost  every  epithet  he 
gives  to  a  mountain  or  plain  is  still  just  for  it ;  and  I  spent 
several  hours  here  in  as  agreeable  cogitations  as  ever  Don 
Quixote  had  ou  mount  Montesinos.  We  sailed  next  night  to 
the  shore,  where  'tis  vulgarly  reported  Troy  stood  ;  and  I  took 
the  pains  of  rising  at  two  in  the  morning  to  view  coolly  those 
ruins  which  are  commonly  showed  to  strangers,  and  which  the 
Turks  call  Eski   Stamboul,\  i.  e,,  Old  Constantinople.     For 

*  For  this  curious  story,  Monsieur  Bayle  may  be  consulted  in  his 
Dictionary,  article  "Scamander."  It  appears  in  the  Letters  of  Oschines, 
vol.  i.  pp.  125,  126,  edit.  Genev.  160*7 ;  also  in  Philostrates  and  Vi- 
generus. 

f  Alexandria  Troas,  which  the  early  travelers  have  erroneously 
considered  as  the  true  site  of  ancient  Troy.  See  Belon,  Ch.  vi.  4to, 
1588,  Viaggi  di  Pietro  Delia  Valle,  4to.  1650.  Gibbon  (Rom.  Hist.  vol. 
iii.  p.  10)  remarks,  that  Wood,  in  his  observations  on  the  Troad,  p.  140, 


112  LETTERS      TO 

that  reason,  as  well  as  some  others,  I  conjecture  them  to  be 
the  remains  of  that  city  begun  by  Constantine.  I  hired  an  ass 
(the  only  voiture  to  be  had  here),  that  I  might  go  some  miles 
into  the  country,  and  take  a  tour  round  the  ancient  walls, 
which  are  of  a  vast  extent.  We  found  the  remains  of  a  castle 
on  a  hill,  and  of  another  in  a  valley,  several  broken  pillars,  and 
two  pedestals,  from  which  I  took  those  Latin  inscriptions  : 

1. 

DTVL   AUG.   COL. 
ET  COL.   IUL.    PHTLIPPEXSIS 

EORUXDEM  PRIXCIPUM 

COL.   IIJL.   PARIAX.E.   TRLBUN. 

MTLTT.   COH.   XXXJL   VOLUNTAS. 

TETB.    MTLIT.   LEG.   XIU.    GEM. 

PB^FECTO  EQUTT.   ALffi.   L 

SCUBULORUM 

vie.  vm. 


DIVL   IULI.    FLAMTNT 

C    AXTOXIO.   M.    F. 

VOLT.   RUFO.    FLAMLX. 

DIV.   AUG.   COL.   CL.    APREXS. 

ET  COL.   IUL.   PHTLIPPEXSIS 

EORUXDEM   ET   PRINTCD?.    ITEM 

COL.    IUL.   PARIAX.E   TETB. 

1TTLIT.   COH.   XXXJL   VOLUXTARIOR 

TRIB.    MTLIT.    XIII. 

GEM.   PRJEF.   EQUIT.    AHE.    L 

SCUBULORUM 

VIC.  vn. 

I  do  not  doubt  but  the  remains  of  a  temple  near  this  place 
are  the  ruins  of  one  dedicated  to  Augustus  ;  and  I  know  not 
why  Mr.  Sandys  calls  it  a  Christian  temple,  since  the  Romans 
certainly  built  hereabouts.     Here  are  many  tombs  of  fine  mar- 

141,  had  confounded  Ilium  with  Alexandria  Troas,  although  sixteen 
miles  distant  from  each  other.  In  the  Ionian  Antiquities  are  some  fine 
views  of  these  ruins. 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  113 

ble,  and  vast  pieces  of  granite,  which  are  daily  lessened  by  the 
prodigious  balls  that  the  Turks  make  from  them  for  their 
cannon.  We  passed  that  evening  the  isle  of  Tenedos,  once 
under  the  patronage  of  Apollo,  as  he  gave  it  in  himself  in  the 
particulars  of  his  estate  when  he  courted  Daphne.  It  is  but 
ten  miles  in  circuit,  but  in  those  days  very  rich  and  well- 
peopled,  still  famous  for  its  excellent  wine.  I  say  nothing  of 
Tennes,  from  whom  it  was  called ;  but  naming  Mytilene,  where 
we  passed  next,  I  can  not  forbear  mentioning  Lesbos,  where 
Sappho  sung,  and  Pittacus  reigned,  famous  for  the  birth  of 
Alcseus,  Theophrastus,  and  Arion,  those  masters  in  poetry,  phi- 
losophy, and  music.  This  was  one  of  the  last  islands  that 
remained  in  the  Christian  dominion  after  the  conquest  of  Con- 
stantinople by  the  Turks.  But  need  I  talk  to  you  of  Canta- 
cuseni,  etc.,  princes  that  you  are  as  well  acquainted  with  as  I 
am  ?  'T  was  with  regret  I  saw  us  sail  from  this  island  into 
the  Egean  sea,  now  the  Archipelago,  leaving  Scio  (the  ancient 
Chios)  on  the  left,  which  is  the  richest  and  most  populous  of 
these  islands,  fruitful  in  cotton,  corn,  and  silk,  planted  with 
groves  of  orange  and  lemon-trees,  and  the  Arvisian  mountain, 
still  celebrated  for  the  nectar  that  Virgil  mentions.  Here  is 
the  best  manufacture  of  silks  in  all  Turkey.  The  town  is  well 
built,  the  women  famous  for  their  beauty,  and  show  their  faces 
as  in  Christendom.  There  are  many  rich  families,  though  they 
confine  their  magnificence  to  the  inside  of  their  houses,  to 
avoid  the  jealousy  of  the  Turks,  who  have  a  pasha  here :  how- 
ever, they  enjoy  a  reasonable  liberty,  and  indulge  the  genius 
of  their  country ; 

And  eat,  and  sing,  and  dance  away  their  time, 
Fresh  as  their  groves,  and  happy  as  their  clime. 

Their  chains  hang  lightly  on  them,  though  'tis  not  long  since 
they  were  imposed,  not  being  under  the  Turk  till  1566.  But 
perhaps  'tis  as  easy  to  obey  the  Grand-Seignior  as  the  State  of 
Genoa,  to  whom  they  were  sold  by  the  Greek  Emperor.  But  I 
forget  myself  in  these  historical  touches,  which  are  very  im- 


114  LETTERS      TO 

pertinent  when  I  write  to  you.  Passing  the  strait  between  the 
islands  of  Andros  and  Achaia,  now  Libadia,  we  saw  the  prom- 
ontory of  Sunium,  now  called  Cape  Colonna,  where  are  yet 
standing  the  vast  pillars  of  a  temple  of  Minerva.  This  vener- 
able sight  made  me  think,  with  double  regret,  on  a  beautiful 
temple  of  Theseus,  which,  I  am  assured,  was  almost  entire  at 
Athens  till  the  last  campaign  in  the  Morea,  that  the  Turks  filled 
it  with  powder,  and  it  was  accidentally  blown  up.  You  may 
believe  I  hrd  a  great  mind  to  land  on  the  famed  Peloponnesus, 
though  it  were  only  to  look  on  the  rivers  of  JEsopus,  Peneus, 
Inachus,  and  Eurotas,  the  fields  of  Arcadia,  and  other  scenes 
of  ancient  mythology.  But  instead  of  demi-gods  and  heroes,  I 
was  credibly  informed  'tis  now  over-run  by  robbers,  and  that 
I  should  run  a  great  risk  of  falling  into  their  hands  by  un- 
dertaking such  a  journey  through  a  desert  country,  for  which 
however,  I  have  so  much  respect  that  I  have  much  ado  to 
hinder  myself  from  troubling  you  with  its  whole  history,  from 
the  foundation  of  Nicana  and  Corinth,  to  the  last  campaign 
there ;  but  I  check  the  inclination  as  I  did  that  of  landing. 
We  sailed  quietly  by  Cape  Angelo,  once  Malea,  where  I  saw  no 
remains  of  the  famous  temple  of  Apollo.  We  came  that  even- 
ing in  sight  of  Candia :  it  is  very  mountainous ;  we  easily  dis- 
tinguished that  of  Ida.  We  have  Virgil's  authority,  that  here 
were  a  hundred  cities — 

Centum  urbes  habitant  magnas — 

The  chief  of  them — the  scene  of  monstrous  passions.  Metellus 
first  conquered  this  birth-place  of  his  Jupiter ;  it  fell  afterward 
into  the  hands  of — I  am  running  on  to  the  very  siege  of  Can- 
dia ;  and  I  am  so  angry  with  myself  that  I  will  pass  by  all  the 
other  islands  with  this  general  reflection,  that  'tis  impossible  to 
imagine  any  thing  more  agreeable  than  this  journey  would  have 
been  two  or  three  thousand  years  since,  when,  after  drinking 
a  dish  of  tea  with  Sappho,  I  might  have  gone  the  same  even- 
ing to  visit  the  temple  of  Homer  in  Chios,  and  passed  this  voy- 


TIER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  115 

age  in  taking  plans  of  magnificent  temples,  delineating  the 
miracles  of  statuaries,  and  conversing  with  the  most  polite  and 
most  gay  of  mankind.  Alas  !  art  is  extinct  here  ;  the  wonders 
of  nature  alone  remain;  and  it  was  with  vast  pleasure  I  ob- 
served those  of  Mount  Etna,  whose  flame  appears  very  bright 
in  the  night  many  leagues  off  at  sea,  and  fills  the  head  with  a 
thousand  conjectures.  However,  I  honor  philosophy  too  much 
to  imagine  it  could  turn  that  of  Empedocles ;  and  Lucian  shall 
never  make  me  believe  such  a  scandal  of  a  man,  of  whom  Lu- 
cretius says : 

Vix  humana  videtur  stirpe  creatus. 

We  passed  Trinacria  without  hearing  any  of  the  syrens  that 
Homer  describes ;  and,  being  thrown  on  neither  Scylla  nor 
Charybdis,  came  safe  to  Malta,  first  called  Melita,  from  the 
abundance  of  honey.  It  is  a  whole  rock  covered  with  very 
little  earth.  The  Grand-Master  lives  here  in  the  state  of  a  sove- 
reign prince  ;  but  his  strength  at  sea  now  is  very  small.  The 
fortifications  are  reckoned  the  best  in  the  world,  all  cut  in  the 
solid  rock  with  infinite  expense  and  labor.  Off  this  island  we 
were  tossed  by  a  severe  storm,  and  were  very  glad,  after  eight 
days,  to  be  able  to  put  into  Porta  Farine,  on  the  African  shore, 
where  our  ship  now  rides.  At  Tunis  we  were  met  by  the  En- 
glish consul  who  resides  there.  I  readily  accepted  of  the  offer 
of  his  house  for  some  days,  being  very  curious  to  see  this  part 
of  the  world,  and  particularly  the  ruins  of  Carthage.  I  set  out 
in  his  chaise  at  nine  at  night,  the  moon  being  at  full.  I  saw 
the  prospect  of  the  country  almost  as  well  as  I  could  have 
done  by  daylight ;  and  the  heat  of  the  sun  is  now  so  intoler- 
able 'tis  impossible  to  travel  at  any  other  time.  The  soil  is 
for  the  most  part  sandy,  but  everywhere  fruitful  of  date,  olive, 
and  fig-trees,  which  grow  without  art,  yet  afford  the  most  de- 
licious fruit  in  the  world.  Their  vineyards  and  melon-fields 
are  inclosed  by  hedges  of  that  plant  we  call  Indian  fig,  which 
is  an  admirable  fence,  no  wild  beast  being  able  to  pass  it.  It 
grows  a  great  height,  very  thick,  and  the  spikes  or  thorns  are 


116  LETTERS      TO 

as  long  and  as  sharp  as  bodkins ;  it  bears  a  fruit  much  eaten 
by  the  peasants,  and  which  has  no  ill  taste. 

It  being  now  the  season  of  the  Turkish  ramazan,  or  Lent, 
and  all  here  professing,  at  least,  the  Mohammedan  religion, 
they  fast  till  the  going  down  of  the  sun,  and  spend  the  night 
in  feasting.  We  saw  under  the  trees  companies  of  the  coun- 
try people,  eating,  singing,  and  dancing  to  their  wild  music. 
They  are  not  quite  black,  but  all  mulattoes,  and  the  most 
frightful  creatures  that  can  appear  in  a  human  figure.  They 
are  almost  naked,  only  wearing  a  piece  of  coarse  serge  wrapped 
about  them.  But  the  women  have  their  arms,  to  their  very 
shoulders,  and  their  necks  and  faces,  adorned  with  flowers, 
stars,  and  various  sorts  of  figures  impressed  by  gunpowder ;  a 
considerable  addition  to  their  natural  deformity  ;  which  is,  how- 
ever, esteemed  very  ornamental  among  them ;  and  I  believe 
they  suffer  a  good  deal  of  pain  by  it. 

About  six  miles  from  Tunis  we  saw  the  remains  of  that  noble 
aqueduct,  which  carried  the  water  to  Carthage  over  several 
high  mountains,  the  length  of  forty  miles.  There  are  still  many 
arches  entire.  We  spent  two  hours  viewing  it  with  great  atten- 
tion, and  Mr.  Wortley  assured  me  that  of  Rome  is  very  much 
inferior  to  it.  The  stones  are  of  a  prodigious  size,  and  yet  all 
polished,  and  so  exactly  fitted  to  each  other  very  little  cement 
has  been  made  use  of  to  join  them.  Yet  they  may  probably 
stand  a  thousand  years  longer,  if  art  is  not  made  use  of  to  pull 
them  down.  Soon  after  daybreak  I  arrived  at  Tunis,  a  town 
fairly  built  of  very  white  stone,  but  quite  without  gardens, 
which,  they  say,  were  all  destroyed  when  the  Turks  first  took 
it,  none  having  been  planted  since.  The  dry  sand  gives  a  very 
disagreeable  prospect  to  the  eye ;  and  the  want  of  shade  con- 
tributing to  the  natural  heat  of  the  climate,  renders  it  so  ex- 
cessive that  I  have  much  ado  to  support  it.  'Tis  true  here  is 
every  noon  the  refreshment  of  the  sea-breeze,  without  which  it 
would  be  impossible  to  live ;  but  no  fresh  water  but  what  is 
preserved  in  the  cisterns  of  the  rains  that  fall  in  the  month  of 
September.     The  women  of  the  town  go  vailed  from  head  to 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  117 

foot  under  a  black  crape ;  and,  being  mixed  with  a  breed  of 
renegadoes,  are  said  to  be  many  of  them  fair  and  handsome. 
This  city  was  besieged  in  1270,  by  Lewis,  King  of  France,  who 
died  under  the  walls  of  it  of  a  pestilential  fever.  After  his 
death,  Philip,  his  son,  and  our  prince  Edward,  son  of  Henry 
DX,  raised  the  siege  on  honorable  terms.  It  remained  under 
its  natural  African  kings,  till  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  Barba- 
rossa,  admiral  of  Solyman  the  Magnificent.  The  Emperor 
Charles  V.  expelled  Barbarossa,  but  it  was  recovered  by  the 
Turks,  under  the  conduct  of  Sinan  Pasha,  in  the  reign  of  Selim 
II.  From  that  time  till  now  it  has  remained  tributary  to  the 
Grand-Signior,  governed  by  a  bey,  who  sutlers  the  name  of  sub- 
ject to  the  Turk,  but  has  renounced  the  subjection,  being  abso- 
lute, and  very  seldom  paying  any  tribute.  The  great  city  of 
Bagdad  is  at  this  time  in  the  same  circumstances ;  and  the 
Grand-Signior  connives  at  the  loss  of  these  dominions,  for  fear 
of  losing  even  the  titles  of  them. 

I  went  very  early  yesterday  morning  (after  one  night's  re- 
pose) to  see  the  ruins  of  Carthage.  I  was,  however,  half  broiled 
in  the  sun,  and  overjoyed  to  be  led  into  one  of  the  subterranean 
apartments,  which  they  called  The  Stables  of  the  Elephants,  but 
which  I  can  not  believe  were  ever  designed  for  that  use.  I 
found  in  them  many  broken  pieces  of  columns  of  fine  marble, 
and  some  of  porphyry.  I  can  not  think  any  body  would  take 
the  insignificant  pains  of  carrying  them  thither,  and  I  can  not 
imagine  such  fine  pillars  were  designed  for  the  use  of  stables. 
I  am  apt  to  believe  they  were  summer  apartments  under  their 
palaces,  which  the  heat  of  the  climate  rendered  necessary. 
They  are  now  used  as  granaries  by  the  country  people.  While 
I  sat  here,  from  the  town  of  Tents,  not  far  oif,  many  of  the 
women  flocked  in  to  see  me,  and  we  were  equally  entertained 
with  viewing  one  another.  Their  posture  in  sitting,  the  color 
of  their  skin,  their  lank  black  hair  falling  on  each  side  their 
faces,  their  features,  and  the  shape  of  their  limbs,  differ  so 
little  from  their  country-people  the  baboons,  'tis  hard  to  fancy 


118  .  LETTERS      TO 

them  a  distinct  race  ;  I  could  not  help  thinking  there  had  been 
some  ancient  alliances  between  them. 

When  I  was  a  little  refreshed  by  rest,  and  some  milk  and 
exquisite  fruit  they  brought  me,  I  went  up  the  little  hill  where 
once  stood  the  castle  of  Byrsa,  and  from  thence  I  had  a  distinct 
view  of  the  situation  of  the  famous  city  of  Carthage,  which 
stood  on  an  isthmus,  the  sea  coming  on  each  side  of  it.  'Tis 
now  a  marshy  ground  on  one  side,  where  there  are  salt  ponds. 
Sfcrabo  calls  Carthage  forty  miles  in  circumference.  There  are 
now  no  remains  of  it  but  what  I  have  described ;  and  the  his- 
tory of  it  is  too  well  known  to  want  my  abridgment  of  it.  You 
see,  sir,  that  I  think  you  esteem  obedience  better  than  compli- 
ments. I  have  answered  your  letter,  by  giving  you  the  accounts 
you  desired,  and  have  reserved  my  thanks  to  the  conclusion. 
I  intend  to  leave  this  place  to-morrow,  and  continue  my  jour- 
ney through  Italy  and  France.  In  one  of  those  places  I  hope 
to  tell  you,  by  word  of  mouth,  that  I  am,  Your  humble  serv- 
ant, etc.,  etc. 


LETTER  XVI. 

Genoa,  August  28,  0.  S.  1718. 
Genoa  is  situated  in  a  very  fine  bay ;  and  being  built  on  a 
rising  hill,  intermixed  with  gardens,  and  beautified  with  the 
most  excellent  architecture,  gives  a  very  fine  prospect  off  at 
sea ;  though  it  lost  much  of  its  beauty  in  my  eyes,  having  been 
accustomed  to  that  of  Constantinople.  The  Genoese  were 
once  masters  of  several  islands  in  the  Archipelago,  and  all 
that  part  of  Constantinople  which  is  now  called  Galata.  Theii 
betraying  the  Christian  cause  by  facilitating  the  taking  of 
Constantinople  by  the  Turk,  deserved  what  has  since  happened 
to  them,  even  the  loss  of  all  their  conquests  on  that  side  to 
those  infidels.  They  are  at  present  far  from  rich,  and  are  de- 
spised by  the  French,  since  their  doge  was  forced  by  the  late 
king  to  go  in  person  to  Paris,  to  ask  pardon  for  such  a  trifle 


HER     SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  119 

as  the  arms  of  France  over  the  house  of  the  envoy  being  spat- 
tered with  dung  in  the  night.  This,  I  suppose,  was  done  by 
some  of  the  Spanish  faction,  which  still  makes  up  the  majority 
here,  though  they  dare  not  openly  declare  it.  The  ladies  affect 
the  French  habit,  and  are  more  genteel  than  those  they  imitate. 
I  do  not  doubt  but  the  custom  of  cecisbeos  has  very  much  im- 
proved their  airs.  I  know  not  whether  you  ever  heard  of  those 
animals.  Upon  my  word,  nothing  but  my  own  eyes  could ' 
have  convinced  me  there  were  any  such  upon  earth.  The 
fashion  began  here,  and  is  now  received  all  over  Italy,  where 
the  husbands  are  not  such  terrible  creatures  as  we  represent 
them.  There  are  none  among  them  such  brutes  as  to  pretend 
to  find  fault  with  a  custom  so  well  established,  and  so  politi- 
cally founded,  since  I  am  assured  that  it  was  an  expedient  first 
found  out  by  the  senate,  to  put  an  end  to  those  family  hatreds 
which  tore  their  State  to  pieces,  and  to  find  employment  for 
those  young  men  who  were  forced  to  cut  one  another's  throats 
pour  passer  le  temps  ;  and  it  has  succeeded  so  well,  that,  since 
the  institution  of  cecisbei,  there  has  been  nothing  but  peace 
and  good  humor  among  them.  These  are  gentlemen  who  de- 
vote themselves  to  the  service  of  a  particular  lady  (I  mean  a 
married  one,  for  the  virgins  are  all  invisible,  and  confined 
to  convents) :  they  are  obliged  to  wait  on  her  to  all  public 
places,  such  as  the  plays,  the  operas,  and  assemblies  (which 
are  here  called  Conversations),  where  they  wait  behind  her 
chair,  take  care  of  her  fan  and  gloves,  if  she  play,  have  the 
privilege  of  whispers,  etc.  When  she  goes  out  they  serve  her 
instead  of  lacqueys,  gravely  trotting  by  her  chair.  'Tis  their 
business  to  prepare  for  her  a  present  against  any  day  of  pub- 
lic appearance,  not  forgetting  that  of  her  own  name  :*  in 
short,  they  are  to  spend  all  their  time  and  money  in  her  serv- 
ice, who  rewards  them  accordingly  (for  opportunity  they  want 
none) ;  but  the  husband  is  not  to  have  the  impudence  to  sup- 
pose this  any  other  than  pure  Platonic  friendship.  'Tis  true, 
they  endeavor  to  give  her  a  cecisbeo  Of  their  own  choosing ; 
•  That  is.  the  day  of  the  saint  after  whom  she  is  called. 


120  LETTERS      TO 

but  when  the  lady  happens  not  to  be  of  the  same  taste,  as  that 
often  happens,  she  never  fails  to  bring  it  about  to  have  one  of 
her  own  fancy.  In  former  times,  one  beauty  used  to  have 
eight  or  ten  of  these  humble  admirers  ;  but  those  days  of 
plenty  and  humility  are  no  more :  men  grow  more  scarce  and 
saucy ;  and  every  lady  is  forced  to  content  herself  with  one 
at  a  time. 

You  may  see  in  this  place  the  glorious  liberty  of  a  republic, 
or,  more  properly,  an  aristocracy,  the  common  people  being 
here  as  errant  slaves  as  the  French ;  but  the  old  nobles  pay 
little  respect  to  the  doge,  who  isbut  two  years  in  his  office, 
and  whose  wife,  at  that  very  time,  assumes  no  rank  above 
another  noble  lady.  'Tis  true,  the  family  of  Andrea  Doria 
(that  great  man,  who  restored  them  that  liberty  they  enjoy) 
have  some  particular  privileges  :  when  the  senate  found  it  ne- 
cessary to  put  a  stop  to  the  luxury  of  dress,  forbidding  the 
wearing  of  jewels  and  brocades,  they  left  them  at  liberty  to 
make  what  expense  they  pleased.  I  look  with  great  pleasure 
on  the  statue  of  that  hero,  which  is  in  the  court  belonging  to 
the  house  of  Duke  Doria.  This  puts  me  in  mind  of  their  palaces, 
which  I  can  never  describe  as  I  ought.  Is  it  not  enough  that 
I  say  they  are,  most  of  them,  the  design  of  Palladio  ?  The 
street  called  Strada  Nova  is  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  line  of 
building  in  the  world.  I  must  particularly  mention  the  vast 
palaces  of  Durazzo ;  those  of  the  two  Balbi,  joined  together 
by  a  magnificent  colonnade ;  that  of  the  Imperiale  at  this  vil- 
lage of  St.  Pierre  d' Arena ;  and  another  of  the  Doria.  The 
perfection  of  architecture,  and  the  utmost  profusion  of  rich 
furniture,  are  to  be  seen  here,  disposed  with  the  most  elegant 
taste  and  lavish  magnificence.  But  I  am  charmed  with  noth- 
ing so  much  as  the  collection  of  pictures  by  the  pencils  of 
Raphael,  Paulo  Veronese,  Titian,  Caracci,  Michael  Angelo, 
Guido,  and  Correggio,  which  two  I  mention  last  as  my  par- 
ticular favorites.  I  own  I  can  find  no  pleasure  in  objects  of 
horror ;  and,  in  my  opinion,  the  more  naturally  a  crucifix  is 
represented,  the  more  disagreeable  it  is.     These,  my  beloved 


HER      SISTER      AND      FRIENDS.  121 

painters,  show  nature,  and  show  it  in  the  most  charming  light. 
I  was  particularly  pleased  with  a  Lucretia  in  the  house  of 
Balbi :  the  expressive  beauty  of  that  face  and  bosom  gives 
all  the  expression  of  pity  and  admiration  that  could  be  raised 
in  the  soul  by  the  finest  poem  upon  that  subject.  A  Cleo- 
patra of  the  same  hand  deserves  to  be  mentioned ;  and  I 
should  say  more  of  her,  if  Lucretia  had  not  at  first  engaged 
my  eyes.  Here  are  also  some  inestimable  ancient  bustos.  The 
Church  of  St.  Lawrence  is  built  of  black  and  white  marble, 
where  is  kept  that  famous  plate  of  a  single  emerald,  which  is 
not  now  permitted  to  be  handled,  since  a  plot,  which  they  say 
was  discovered  to  throw  it  on  the  pavement  and  break  it — a 
childish  piece  of  malice,  which  they  ascribe  to  the  King  of 
Sicily,  to  be  revenged  for  their  refusing  to  sell  it  to  him.  The 
Church  of  the  Annunciation  is  finely  lined  with  marble  ;  the 
pillars  are  of  red  and  white  marble :  that  of  St.  Ambrose  has 
been  very  much  adorned  by  the  Jesuits :  but  I  confess  all  the 
churches  appeared  so  mean  to  me,  after  that  of  Sancta  Sophia, 
I  can  hardly  do  them  the  honor  of  writing  down  their  names. 
But  I  hope  you  will  own  I  have  made  good  use  of  my  time, 
in  seeing  so  much,  since  'tis  not  many  days  that  we  have 
been  out  of  the  quarantine,  from  which  nobody  is  exempted 
coming  from  the  Levant.  Ours,  indeed,  was  very  much  short- 
ened, and  very  agreeably  passed  in  M.  d'Aveuant's  company, 
in  the  village  of  St.  Pierre  d' Arena,  about  a  mile  from  Genoa, 
in  a  house  built  by  Palladio,  so  well  designed,  and  so  nobly 
proportioned,  't  was  a  pleasure  to  walk  in  it.  We  were  visited 
.here  only  by  a  few  English,  in  the  company  of  a  noble  Geno- 
ese, commissioned  to  see  we  did  not  touch  one  another.  I 
shall  stay  here  some  days  longer,  and  could  almost  wish  it 
i  were  for  all  my  life ;  but  mine,  I  fear,  is  not  destined  to  so 
much  tranquillity. 

Note. — Of  the  foregoing  letters,  the  sixth,  twelfth,  and  fourteenth 
were  addressed  to  Lady  Rich;    the  seventh,  tenth  and  eleventh  to  the 

Abbot  of ;  the  fifteenth  to  the  Abbe ;  and  the  others  to  her  sister, 

Lady  Mar. — Am.  ed. 

6 


LETTERS  TO  AND  FROM  ALEXANDER  POPE.* 

FROM     1716     TO      1718. 


LETTER  I. 

TO    LADY   MARY   WORTLEY   MONTAGU. 

Twickenham,  Aug.  18,  0.  S.,  1716. 
Madam,  I  can  say  little  to  recommend  the  letters  I  am  be- 
ginning to  write  to  you  but  that  they  will  be  the  most  impar- 
tial representations  of  a  free  heart,  and  the  truest  copies  you 
ever  saw,  though  of  a  very  mean  original.  Not  a  feature  will 
be  softened,  or  any  advantageous  light  employed  to  make  the 
ugly  thing  a  little  less  hideous,  but  you  shall  find  it  in  all  re- 
spects most  horribly-like.  You  will  do  me  an  injustice  if  you 
look  upon  any  thing  I  shall  say  from  this  instant,  as  a  compli- 
ment either  to  you  or  to  myself:  whatever  I  write  will  be  the 
real  thought  of  that  hour,  and  I  know  you  will  no  more  ex- 
pect it  of  me  to  persevere  till  death  in  every  sentiment  or 

*  This  correspondence  was  held  during  the  "  Embassy ;"  but  it 
seemed  to  me  best  to  separate  the  letters  from  those  written  to  the 
other  "Friends"  of  Lady  Mary,  and  give,  consecutively,  Mr.  Pope's 
letters  to  her,  as  well  as  her  answers.  In  this  way,  the  friendship 
then  subsisting  between  them  can  be  best  understood.  It  will  bev 
seen  that  he  solicited  the  correspondence,  and  held  the  genius  and 
character  of  Lady  Mary  in  such  regard  as  a  devotee  might  have  ex- 
pressed for  his  patron  saint.  That  he  afterward  became  her  most  im- 
placable enemy,  was  not  her  fault,  but  his ;  the  meanness  of  wounded 
vanity  prompted  his  bitter  sarcasms  on  women  in  general  and  hla 
wicked  libels  on  Lady  Mary  in  particular. — Am.  Ed. 


LETTERS      FROM     ALEXANDER     POPE.  123 

notion  I  now  set  down,  than  you  would  imagine  a  man's 
face  should  never  change  after  his  picture  was  once  drawn. 

The  freedom  I  shall  use  in  this  manner  of  thinking  aloud 
(as  somebody  calls  it)  or  talking  upon  paper,  may  indeed 
prove  me  a  fool,  but  it  will  prove  me  one  of  the  best  sort  of 
fools,  the  honest  ones.  And  since  what  folly  we  have  will  in- 
fallibly buoy  up  at  one  time  or  other  in  spite  of  all  our  art  to 
keep  it  down,  it  is  almost  foolish  to  take  any  pains  to  conceal  it 
at  all,  and  almost  knavish  to  do  it  from  those  that  are  our 
friends.  If  Momus's  project  had  taken  of  having  windows  in 
our  breasts,  I  should  be  for  carrying  it  further  and  making 
those  windows  casements  :  that  while  a  man  showed  his  heart 
to  all  the  world,  he  might  do  something  more  for  his  friends, 
e'en  take  it  out,  and  trust  it  to  their  handling.  I  think  I 
love  you  as  well  as  King  Herod  could  Herodias  (though  I 
never  had  so  much  as  one  dance  with  you),  and  would  as 
freely  give  you  my  heart  in  a  dish  as  he  did  another's  head. 
But  since  Jupiter  will  not  have  it  so,  I  must  be  content  to 
show  my  taste  in  life  as  I  do  my  taste  in  painting — by  loving  to 
have  as  little  drapery  as  possible,  because  it  is  good  to  use 
people  to  what  they  must  be  acquainted  with ;  and  there  will 
certainly  come  some  day  of  judgment  to  uncover  every  soul 
of  us.  We  shall  then  see  how  the  prudes  of  this  world  owed 
all  their  fine  figure  only  to  their  being  a  little  straiter  laced, 
and  that  they  were  naturally  as  arrant  squabs  as  those  that 
went  more  loose,  nay,  as  those  that  never  girded  their  loins  at 
all. 

But  a  particular  reason  to  engage  you  to  write  your 
thoughts  the  more  freely  to  me,  is,  that  I  am  confident  no  one 
knows  you  better.  For  I  find,  when  others  express  their  opin- 
ion of  you,  it  falls  very  short  of  mine,  and  I  am  sure,  at  the 
same  time,  theirs  is  such  as  you  would  think  sufficiently  in 
your  favor. 

You  may  easily  imagine  how  desirous  I  must  be  of  a  cor- 
respondence with  a  person  who  had  taught  me  long  ago  that 
it  was  as  possible  to  esteem  at  first  sight,  as  to  love  :  and  who 


124  LETTERS     TO     AND 

has  since  ruined  me  for  all  the  conversation  of  one  sex,  and 
almost  all  the  friendship  of  the  other.  I  am  but  too  sensible, 
through  your  means,  that  the  company  of  men  wants  a  cer- 
tain softness  to  recommend  it,  and  that  of  women  wants  every 
thing  else.  How  often  have  I  been  quietly  going  to  take 
possession  of  that  tranquillity  and  indolence  I  had  so  long 
found  in  the  country,  when  one  evening  of  your  conversation 
has  spoiled  me  for  a  solitaire  too  !  Books  have  lost  their  ef- 
fect upon  me;  and  I  was  convinced  since  I  saw  you  that 
there  is  something  more  powerful  than  philosophy,  and,  since 
I  heard  you,  that  there  is  one  alive  wiser  than  all  the  sages. 
A  plague  of  female  wisdom !  it  makes  a  man  ten  times  more 
uneasy  than  his  own  !  What  is  very  strange,  Virtue  herself, 
when  you  have  the  dressing  her,  is  too  amiable  for  one's  re- 
pose. What  a  world  of  good  might  you  have  done  in  your 
time,  if  you  had  allowed  half  the  fine  gentlemen  who  have 
seen  you  to  have  but  conversed  with  you  ?  They  would  have 
been  strangely  caught,  while  they  thought  only  to  fall  in  love 
with  a  fair  face,  and  you  had  bewitched  them  with  reason  and 
virtue ;  two  beauties,  that  the  very  fops  pretend  to  no  ac- 
quaintance with. 

The  unhappy  distance  at  which  we  correspond,  removes  a 
great  many  of  those  punctilious  restrictions  and  decorums 
that  oftentimes  in  nearer  conversation  prejudice  truth  to  save 
good  breeding.  I  may  now  hear  of  my  faults,  and  you  of 
your  good  qualities,  without  a  blush  on  either  side.  We  con- 
verse upon  such  unfortunate  generous  terms  as  exclude  the 
regards  of  fear,  shame,  or  design  in  either  of  us.  And  me- 
thinks  it  would  be  as  ungenerous  a  part  to  impose  even  in  a 
single  thought  upon  each  other,  in  this  state  of  separation, 
as  for  spirits  of  a  different  sphere,  who  have  so  little  inter- 
course with  us,  to  employ  that  little  (as  some  would  make 
us  think  they  do)  in  putting  tricks  and  delusions  upon  poor 
mortals. 

Let  me  begin  then,  madam,  by  asking  you  a  question,  which 
may  enable  me  to  judge  better  of  my  own  conduct  than  most 


FROM     ALEXANDER      POPE.  125 

instances  of  my  life.  In  what  manner  did  I  behave  the  last 
hour  I  saw  you  ?  What  degree  of  concern  did  I  discover  when 
T  felt  a  misfortune,  which  I  hope  you  never  will  feel,  that  of 
parting  from  what  one  most  esteems  ?  For  if  my  parting  looked 
but  like  that  of  your  common  acquaintance,  I  am  the  greatest 
of  all  the  hypocrites  that  ever  decency  made. 

I  never  since  pass  by  the  house  but  with  the  same  sort  of 
melancholy  that  we  feel  upon  seeing  the  tomb  of  a  friend,  which 
only  serves  to  put  us  in  mind  of  what  we  have  lost.  I  reflect 
upon  the  circumstances  of  your  departure,  your  behavior  in 
what  I  may  call  your  last  moments,  and  I  indulge  a  gloomy 
kind  of  satisfaction  in  thinking  you  gave  some  of  those  last 
moments  to  me.  I  would  fain  imagine  this  was  not  accidental, 
but  proceeded  from  a  penetration  which  I  know  you  have  in 
finding  out  the  truth  of  people's  sentiments,  and  that  you  were 
not  unwilling  the  last  man  that  would  have  parted  with  you 
should  be  the  last  that  did.  I  really  looked  upon  you  then, 
as  the  friends  of  Curtius  might  have  done  upon  that  hero  in 
the  instant  he  was  devoting  himself  to  glory,  and  running  to 
be  lost,  out  of  generosity.  I  was  obliged  to  admire  your  reso- 
lution in  as  great  a  degree  as  I  deplored  it ;  and  could  only 
wish  that  Heaven  would  reward  so  much  merit  as  was  to  be 
taken  from  us  with  all  the  felicity  it  could  enjoy  elsewhere.  May 
that  person  for  whom  you  have  left  all  the  world  be  so  just  as 
to  prefer  you  to  all  the  world.  I  believe  his  good  understand- 
ing has  engaged  him  to  do  so  hitherto,  and  I  think  his  gratitude 
must  for  the  future.  May  you  continue  to  think  him  worthy 
of  whatever  you  have  done ;  may  you  ever  look  upon  him 
with  the  eyes  of  a  first  lover,  nay,  if  possible,  with  all  the  un- 
reasonable happy  fondness  of  an  unexperienced  one,  surrounded 
nvith  all  the  enchantments  and  ideas  of  romance  and  poetry. 
In  a  word,  may  you  receive  from  him  as  many  pleasures  and 
gratifications  as  even  I  think  you  can  give.  I  wish  this  from 
my  heart,  and  while  I  examine  what  passes  there  in  regard  to 
you,  I  can  not  but  glory  in  my  own  heart  that  it  is  capable  of 
so  much  generosity. 


126  LETTERS    TO     AND 


LETTER  II. 


TO     MR.     POPE.* 

VnorarA,  Sept.  4,  0.  S.,  1717. 

Perhaps  you'll  laugh  at  me  for  thanking  you  very  giavely 
for  all  the  obliging  concern  you  express  for  me.  'Tis  certain 
that  I  may,  if  I  please,  take  the  fine  things  you  say  to  me  for 
wit  and  raillery ;  and,  it  may  be,  it  would  be  taking  theai  right. 
But  I  never,  in  my  life,  was  half  so  well  disposed  to  believe 
you  in  earnest  as  I  am  at  present ;  and  that  distance,  which 
makes  the  continuation  of  your  friendship  improbable,  has 
very  much  increased  my  faith  in  it. 

I  find  that  I  have  (as  well  as  the  rest  of  my  sex),  whatever 
face  I  set  on't,  a  strong  disposition  to  believe  in  miracles. 
Don't  fancy,  however,  that  I  am  infected  by  the  air  of  these 
Popish  countries ;  I  have,  indeed,  so  far  wandered  from  the 
discipline  of  the  Church  of  England,  as  to  have  been  last  Sun- 
day at  the  Opera,  which  was  performed  in  the  garden  of  the 
Favorita ;  and  I  was  so  much  pleased  with  it,  I  have  not  yet 
repented  my  seeing  it.  Nothing  of  that  kind  ever  was  more 
magnificent ;  and  I  can  easily  believe  what  I  am  told,  that  the 
decorations  and  habits  cost  the  emperor  thirty  thousand  pounds 
sterling.  The  stage  was  built  over  a  very  large  canal,  and,  at 
the  beginning  of  the  second  act,  divided  into  two  parts,  dis- 
covering the  water,  on  which  there  immediately  came,  from 
different  parts,  two  fleets  of  little  gilded  vessels,  that  gave  the 
representation  of  a  naval  fight.     It  is  not  easy  to  imagine  the 

*  In  the  eighth  volume  of  Pope's  "Works,  are  first  published  thirteen 
of  his  letters  to  Lady  Mary  "Wortley  Montagu  communicated  to  Dr. 
Warton  by  the  present  Primate  of  Ireland.  These  MSS.  are  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  Marquis  of  Bute.  As  many  are  without  date,  the  arrange- 
ment of  them  must  be  directed  by  circumstances  ;  and  as  most  of  them 
were  written  to  Lady  Mary  during  her  first  absence  from  England,  we 
shall  advert  to  them,  as  making  a  part  of  this  correspondence.  The 
letter  of  Pope's,  to  which  this  is  an  answer,  was  first  printed  from  the 
origmal  MS.  in  "Works  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  18U3. 


FROM      ALEXANDER      POPE.  127 

beauty  of  this  scene,  which  I  took  particular  notice  of.  But 
all  the  rest  were  perfectly  fine  in  their  kind.  The  story  of  the 
opera  is  the  enchantment  of  Alcina,  which  gives  opportunities 
for  a  great  variety  of  machines,  and  changes  of  the  scenes, 
which  are  performed  with  a  surprising  swiftness.  The  theater 
is  so  large  that  it  is  hard  to  carry  the  eye  to  the  end  of  it,  and 
the  habits  in  the  utmost  magnificence,  to  the  number  of  one 
hundred  and  eight.  No  house  could  hold  such  large  decora- 
tions ;  but  the  ladies  all  sitting  in  the  open  air,  exposes  them 
to  great  inconveniences ;  for  there  is  but  one  canopy  for  the 
imperial  family ;  and,  the  first  night  it  was  represented,  a 
shower  of  rain  happening,  the  opera  was  broken  off,  and  the 
company  crowded  away  in  such  confusion  that  I  was  almost 
squeezed  to  death. 

But  if  their  operas  are  thus  delightful,  their  comedies  are  in 
as  high  a  degree  ridiculous. #  They  have  but  one  playhouse, 
where  I  had  the  curiosity  to  go  to  a  German  comedy,  and  was 
very  glad  it  happened  to  be  the  story  of  Amphitryon.  As  that 
subject  has  been  already  handled  by  a  Latin,  French,  and 
English  poet,  I  was  curious  to  see  what  an  Austrian  author 
would  make  of  it.  I  understand  enough  of  that  language  to 
comprehend  the  greatest  part  of  it ;  and  besides,  I  took  with 
me  a  lady,  who  had  the  goodness  to  explain  to  me  every  word. 
The  way  is,  to  take  a  box,  which  holds  four,  for  yourself  and 
company.  The  fixed  price  is  a  gold  ducat.  I  thought  the 
house  very  low  and  dark;  but  I  confess,  the  comedy  admira- 
bly recompensed  that  defect.  I  never  laughed  so  much  in  my 
life.  It  began  with  Jupiter's  falling  in  love  out  of  a  peep-hole 
in  the  clouds,  and  ended  with  the  birth  of  Hercules.  But  what 
was  most  pleasant,  was  the  use  Jupiter  made  of  his  metamor- 
phosis ;  for  you  no  sooner  saw  him  under  the  figure  of  Amphi- 
tryon, but  instead  of  flying  to  Alcmena,  with  the  raptures  Mr. 
Dryden  puts  into  his  mouth,  he  sends  for  Amphitryon's  tailor, 
and  cheats  him  of  a  laced  coat,  and  his  banker  of  a  bag  of 
money,  a  Jew  of  a  diamond  ring,  and  bespeaks  a  great  supper 
in  his  name ;  and  the  greatest  part  of  the  comedy  turns  upon 


128  LETTERS     TO     AND 

poor  Amphitryon's  being  tormented  by  these  people  for  their 
debts.  Mercury  uses  Sosia  in  the  same  manner.  But  I  could 
not  easily  pardon  the  liberty  the  poet  has  taken  of  larding  his 
play  with,  not  only  indecent  expressions,  but  such  gross  words 
as  I  don't  think  our  mob  would  suffer  from  a  mountebank. 
Besides,  the  two  Sosias  very  fairly  let  down  their  breeches  in 
the  direct  view  of  the  boxes,  which  were  full  of  people  of  the 
tirst  rank,  that  seemed  very  well  pleased  with  their  entertain- 
ment, and  assured  me  this  was  a  celebrated  piece. 

I  shall  conclude  my  letter  with  this  remarkable  relation, 
very  well  worthy  the  serious  consideration  of  Mr.  Collier.*  I 
won't  trouble  you  with  farewell  compliments,  which  I  think 
generally  as  impertinent  as  courtesies  at  leaving  the  room, 
when  the  visit  had  been  too  long  already. 


LETTER  in. 

FROM     MR.     POPE. 


Madam,  I  no  more  think  I  can  have  too  many  of  your 
letters,  than  I  would  have  too  many  writings  to  entitle  me  to 
the  greatest  estate  in  the  world ;  which  I  think  so  valuable  a 
friendship  as  yours  is  equal  to.  I  am  angry  at  every  scrap  of 
paper  lost  as  something  that  interrupts  the  history  of  my  title ; 
and  though  it  is  but  an  odd  compliment  to  compare  a  fine 
lady  to  Sybil,  your  leaves,  mefchinks,  like  hers,  are  too  good  to 
be  committed  to  the  winds ;  though  I  have  no  other  way  of 
receiving  them  but  by  those  unfaithful  messengers.  I  have  had 
but  three,  and  I  reckon  in  that  short  one  from  Dort,  which  was 
rather  a  dying  ejaculation  than  a  letter.  But  I  have  so  great 
an  opinion  of  your  goodness  that,  had  I  received  none,  I  should 

*  Jeremy  Collier,  an  English  divine,  eminent  for  his  piety  and  wit. 
In  1698  he  wrote  "A  short  view  of  the  Immorality  and  Profaneness  of 
the  English  Stage,  together  with  the  sense  of  Antiquity  on  this  sub- 
ject," 8vo.  This  tract  excited  the  resentment  of  the  wits,  and  engaged 
him  in  a  controversy  with  Congreve  and  Vanbrugh. 


PROM      ALEXANDER      POPE.  129 

not  have  accused  you  of  neglect  or  insensibility.  I  am  not  so 
wrong-headed  as  to  quarrel  with  my  friends  the  minute  they 
don't  write,  I  'd  as  soon  quarrel  at  the  sun  the  minute  he  did 
not  shine,  which  he  is  hindered  from  by  accidental  causes,  and 
is  in  reality  all  that  time  performing  the  same  course,  and  doing 
the  same  good  offices  as  ever. 

You  have  contrived  to  say  in  your  last,  the  two  most  pleas- 
ing things  to  me  in  nature ;  the  first  is,  that  whatever  be  the 
fate  of  your  letters,  you  will  continue  to  write  in  the  discharge 
of  your  conscience.  This  is  generous  to  the  last  degree,  and 
a  virtue  you  ought  to  enjoy.  Be  assured,  in  return,  my  heart 
shall  be  as  ready  to  think  you  have  done  every  good  thing,  as 
yours  can  be  to  do  it ;  so  that  you  shall  never  be  able  to  favor 
your  absent  friend,  before  he  has  thought  himself  obliged  to 
you  for  the  very  favor  you  are  then  conferring. 

The  other  is,  the  justice  you  do  me  in  taking  what  I  writ 
to  you  in  the  serious  manner  it  was  meant :  it  is  the  point  upon 
which  I  can  bear  no  suspicion,  and  in  which,  above  all,  I  de- 
sire to  be  thought  serious :  it  would  be  the  most  vexatious  of 
all  tyranny,  if  you  should  pretend  to  take  for  raillery  what  is 
the  mere  disguise  of  a  discontented  heart  that  is  unwilling  to 
make  you  as  melancholy  as  itself;  and  for  wit  what  is  really 
only  the  natural  overflowing  and  warmth  of  the  same  heart, 
as  it  is  improved  and  awakened  by  an  esteem  for  you :  but 
since  you  tell  me  you  believe  me,  I  fancy  my  expressions  have 
not  at  least  been  entirely  unfaithful  to  those  thoughts,  to  which 
I  am  sure  they  can  never  be  equal.  May  God  increase  your 
faith  in  all  truths  that  any  as  great  as  this  ;  and  depend  upon  it, 
to  whatever  degree  your  belief  may  extend,  you  can  never  be 
a  bigot. 

If  you  could  see  the  heart  I  talk  of,  you  would  really  think 
it  a  foolish  good  kind  of  thing,  with  some  qualities  as  well  de- 
serving to  be  half  laughed  at,  and  half  esteemed,  as  any  in  the 
world:  its  grand  foible,  in  regard  to  you,  is  the  most  like 
reason  of  any  foible  in  nature.  Upon  my  faith,  this  heart  is 
not,  like  a  great  warehouse,  stored  only  with  my  own  goods, 

6* 


130  LETTERS     TO     AND 

with  vast  empty  spaces  to  be  supplied  as  fast  as  interest  01  am- 
bition can  fill  them  up ;  but  it  is  every  inch  of  it  let  out  into 
lodgings  for  its  friends,  and  shall  never  want  a  corner  at  your 
service :  where  I  dare  affirm,  madam,  your  idea  lies  as  warm 
and  as  close  as  any  idea  in  Christendom. 

If  I  don't  take  care,  I  shall  write  myself  all  out  to  you ;  and 
if  this  correspondence  continues  on  both  sides  at  the  free  rate 
I  would  have  it,  wre  shall  have  very  little  curiosity  to  encourage 
our  meeting  at  the  day  of  judgment.  I  foresee  that  the  further 
you  go  from  me,  the  more  freely  I  shall  write ;  and  if,  as  I 
earnestly  wish,  you  would  do  the  same,  I  can't  guess  where 
it  wall  end :  let  us  be  like  modest  people,  who,  when  they  are 
close  together,  keep  all  decorums  ;  but  if  they  step  a  little  aside, 
or  get  to  the  other  end  of  a  room,  can  untie  garters  or  take 
off  shifts  without  scruple. 

If  this  distance,  as  you  are  so  kind  as  to  say,  enlarges  your 
belief  of  my  friendship,  I  assure  you  it  has  so  extended  my 
notion  of  your  value  that  I  begin  to  be  impious  on  our  account 
and  to  wish  that  even  slaughter,  ruin,  and  desolation,  might 
interpose  between  you  and  Turkey ;  I  wish  you  restored  to  us 
at  the  expense  of  a  whole  people :  I  barely  hope  you  will  for- 
give me  for  saying  this,  but  I  fear  God  will  scarcely  forgive  me 
for  desiring  it. 

Make  me  less  wicked  then.  Is  there  no  other  expedient  to 
return  you  and  your  infant  in  peace  to  the  bosom  of  your 
country  ?  I  hear  you  are  going  to  Hanover  ;  can  there  be  no 
favorable  planet  at  this  conjuncture,  or  do  you  only  come  back 
so  far  to  die  twice  ?  Is  Eurydice  once  more  snatched  to  the 
shades  ?  If  ever  mortal  had  reason  to  hate  the  king,  it  is  I ; 
for  it  is  my  particular  misfortune  to  be  almost  the  only  inno- 
cent man  whom  he  has  made  to  suffer,  both  by  his  government 
at  home,  and  his  negotiations  abroad. 


FROM     ALEXANDER     POPE.  131 


LETTER  IV. 


TO     MR.    POPE. 

Belgrade,  Feb.  12,  0.  S.  171?. 

I  did  verily  intend  to  write  you  a  long  letter  from  Peter- 
waradin,  where  I  expected  to  stay  three  or  four  days ;  but  the 
pasha  here  was  in  such  haste  to  see  us,  that  he  dispatched  the 
courier  back,  which  Mr.  Wortley  had  sent  to  know  the  time 
he  would  send  the  convoy  to  meet  us,  without  suffering  him 
to  pull  off  his  boots. 

My  letters  were  not  thought  important  enough  to  stop  our 
journey ;  and  we  left  Peterwaradin  the  next  day,  being  waited 
on  by  the  chief  officers  of  the  garrison,  and  a  considerable 
convoy  of  Germans  and  Rascians.  The  emperor  has  several 
regiments  of  these  people ;  but,  to  say  the  truth,  they  are 
rather  plunderers  than  soldiers;  having  no  pay,  and  being 
obliged  to  furnish  their  own  arms  and  horses ;  they  rather 
look  like  vagabond  gipsies,  or  stout  beggars,  than  regular 
troops. 

I  can  not  forbear  speaking  a  word  of  this  race  of  creatures, 
who  are  very  numerous  all  over  Hungary.  They  have  a  pa- 
triarch of  their  own  at  Grand  Cairo,  and  are  really  of  the 
Greek  Church  ;  but  their  extreme  ignorance  gives  their  priests 
occasion  to  impose  several  new  notions  upon  them.  These 
fellows,  letting  their  hair  and  beard  grow  inviolate,  make  ex- 
actly the  figure  of  the  Indian  bramins.  They  are  heirs-gen 
era!  to  all  the  money  of  the  laity,  for  which,  in  return,  they 
give  them  formal  passports  signed  and  sealed  for  heaven ; 
and  the  wives  and  children  only  inherit  the  house  and  oattle. 
In  most  other  points  they  follow  the  Greek  Church. 

This  little  digression  has  interrupted  my  telling  you  we 
passed  over  the  fields  of  Carlowitz,  where  the  last  great  vic- 
tory was  obtained  by  Prince  Eugene  over  the  Turks.  The 
marks  of  that  glorious  bloody  day  are  yet  recent,  the  field 
being  yet  strewed  with  the  skulls  and  carcases  of  unburied 


132  LETTERS     TO     AND 

men,  horses,  and  camels.  J  could  not  look  without  horror,  on 
such  numbers  of  mangled  human  bodies,  nor  without  reflect- 
ing on  the  injustice  of  war,  that  makes  murder  not  only  neces- 
sary, but  meritorious.  Nothing  seems  to  be  a  plainer  proof 
of  the  irrationality  of  mankind,  whatever  fine  claims  we  pre- 
tend to  reason,  than  the  rage  with  which  they  contest  for  a 
small  spot  of  ground,  when  such  vast  parts  of  fruitful  earth 
lie  quite  uninhabited.  It  is  true,  custom  has  now  made  it 
unavoidable;  but  can  there  be  a  greater  demonstration  of 
want  of  reason,  than  a  custom  being  firmly  established,  so" 
plainly  contrary  to  the  interest  of  man  in  general  ?  I  am  a 
good  deal  inclined  to  believe  Mr.  Hobbes,  that  the  state  of 
nature  is  a  state  of  war  ;  but  thence  I  conclude  human  na- 
ture not  rational,  if  the  word  reason  means  common  sense, 
as  I  suppose  it  does.  I  have  a  great  many  admirable  argu- 
ments to  support  this  reflection ;  I  won't,  however,  trouble 
you  with  them,  but  return,  in  a  plain  style,  to  the  history  of 
my  travels. 

We  were  met  at  Betsko  (a  village  in  the  midway  between 
Belgrade  and  Peterwaradin)  by  an  aga  of  the  janizaries,  with 
a  body  of  Turks,  exceeding  the  Germans  by  one  hundred 
men,  though  the  pasha  had  engaged  to  send  exactly  the  same 
number.  You  may  judge  by  this  of  their  fears.  I  am  really 
persuaded  that  they  hardly  thought  the  odds  of  one  hundred 
men  set  them  even  with  the  Germans  ;  however,  I  was  very 
uneasy  till  they  were  parted,  fearing  some  quarrel  might  arise, 
notwithstanding  the  parole  given. 

We  came  late  to  Belgrade,  the  deep  snows  making  the  as- 
cent to  it  very  difficult.  It  seems  a  strong  city,  fortified  on 
the  east  side  by  the  Danube,  and  on  the  south  by  the  river 
Save,  and  was  formerly  the  barrier  of  Hungary.  It  was  first 
taken  by  Solyman  the  Magnificent,  and  since  by  the  empe- 
ror's forces,  led  by  the  Elector  of  Bavaria.  The  emperor 
held  it  only  two  years,  it  being  retaken  by  the  Grand- Vizier. 
It  is  now  fortified  with  the  utmost  care  and  skill  the  Turks 
are  capable  of,  and  strengthened  by  a  very  numerous  garrison 


FROM     ALEXANDER     POPE.  133 

of  their  bravest  janizaries,  commanded  by  a  pasha  seraskicr 
(t.  e.  general),  though  this  last  expression  is  not  very  just; 
for,  to  say  truth,  the  seraskier  is  commanded  by  the  janizaries. 
These  troops  have  an  absolute  authority  here,  and  their  con- 
duct carries  much  more  the  aspect  of  rebellion  than  the  ap- 
pearance of  subordination.  You  may  judge  of  this  by  the 
following  story,  which,  at  the  same  time,  will  give  you  an  idea 
of  the  admirable  intelligence  of  the  governor  of  Peterwara- 
din,  though  so  few  hours  distant.  We  were  told  by  him  at 
Peterwaradin,  that  the  garrison  and  inhabitants  of  Belgrade 
were  so  weary  of  the  war  they  had  killed  their  pasha,  about 
two  months  ago,  in  a  mutiny,  because  he  had  suffered  him- 
self to  be  prevailed  upon,  by  a  bribe  of  five  purses  (five  hun- 
dred pounds  sterling),  to  give  permission  to  the  Tartars  to 
ravage  the  German  frontiers.  We  were  very  well  pleased  to 
hear  of  such  favorable  dispositions  in  the  people  ;  but  when 
we  came  hither,  we  found  that  the  governor  had  been  ill-in- 
formed, and  the  real  truth  of  the  story  to  be  this  :  The  late 
pasha  fell  under  the  displeasure  of  his  soldiers  for  no  other 
reason  but  restraining  their  incursions  on  the  Germans. 
They  took  it  into  their  heads,  from  that  mildness,  that  he  had 
intelligence  with  the  enemy,  and  sent  such  information  to 
the  Grand  Seignior  at  Adrianople  ;  but  redress  not  coining 
quick  enough  from  thence,  they  assembled  themselves  in  a 
tumultuous  manner,  and  by  force  dragged  their  pasha  before 
the  cadi  and  mufti,  and  there  demanded  justice  in  a  mutinous 
way  ;  one  crying  out,  Why  he  protected  the  infidels  ?  An- 
other, Why  he  squeezed  them  of  their  money  ?  The  pasha, 
easily  guessing  their  purpose,  calmly  replied  to  them  that  they 
asked  him  too  many  questions,  and  that  he  had  but  one  life, 
which  must  answer  for  all.  They  then  immediately  fell  upon 
him  with  their  cimeters,  without  waiting  the  sentence  of  their 
heads  of  the  law,  and  in  a  few  moments  cut  him  in  pieces. 
The  present  pasha  has  not  dared  to  punish  the  murder ;  on 
the  contrary,  he  affected  to  applaud  the  actors  of  it  as  brave 
fellows,  that  knew  to  do  themselves  justice.     He  takes  all  pre- 


134  LETTERS     TO     AND 

tenses  of  throwing  money  among  the  garrison,  and  suffers 
them  to  make  little  excursions  into  Hungary,  where  they  burn 
some  poor  Rascian  houses. 

You  may  imagine  I  can  not  be  very  easy  in  a  town  which 
is  really  under  the  government  of  an  insolent  soldiery.  We 
expected  to  be  immediately  dismissed,  after  a  night's  lodging 
here ;  but  the  pasha  detains  us  till  he  receives  orders  from 
Adrianople,  which  may,  possibly,  be  a  month  a-coming.  In 
the  mean  time,  we  are  lodged  in  one  of  the  best  houses,  be- 
longing to  a  very  considerable  man  among  them,  and  have  a 
whole  chamber  of  janizaries  to  guard  us.  My  only  diversion 
is  the  conversation  of  our  host,  Achmet  Bey,  a  title  something 
like  that  of  count  in  Germany.  His  father  was  a  great 
pasha,  and  he  has  been  educated  in  the  most  polite  Eastern 
learning,  being  perfectly  skilled  in  the  Arabic  and  Persian  lan- 
guages, and  an  extraordinary  scribe,  which  they  call  effendi. 
This  accomplishment  makes  way  to  the  greatest  preferments  ; 
but  he  has  had  the  good  sense  to  prefer  an  easy,  quiet,  secure 
life,  to  all  the  dangerous  honors  of  the  Porte.  He  sups  with 
us  every  night,  and  drinks  wine  very  freely.  You  can  not 
imagine  how  much  he  is  delighted  with  the  liberty  of  con- 
versing with  me.  He  has  explained  to  me  many  pieces  of 
Arabian  poetry,  which,  I  observe,  are  in  numbers  not  unlike 
ours,  generally  of  an  alternate  verse,  and  of  a  very  musical 
sound.  Their  expressions  of  love  are  very  passionate  and 
lively.  I  am  so  much  pleased  with  them,  I  really  believe  I 
should  learn  to  read  Arabic  if  I  was  to  stay  here  a  few 
months.  He  has  a  good  library  of  their  books  of  all  kinds  ; 
and,  as  he  tells  me,  spends  the  greatest  part  of  his  life  there. 
I  pass  for  a  great  scholar  with  him,  by  relating  to  him  some 
of  the  Persian  tales,  which  I  find  are  genuine.*     At  first  he 

*  The  Persian  Tales  appeared  first  in  Europe  as  a  translation,  by 
Monsieur  Petit  de  la  Croix;  and  what  are  called  "The  Arabian 
Nights,"  in  a  similar  manner,  by  Monsier  G-alland.  The  Tales  of  the 
Genii,  said  in  the  title-page  to  have  been  translated  by  Sir  Charlea 
Morell,  were,  in  fact,  entirely  composed  by  James  Ridley,  Esq. 


FROM     ALEXANDER     POPE.  135 

believed  I  understood  Persian.  I  have  frequent  disputes  with 
him  concerning  the  difference  of  our  customs,  particularly  the 
confinement  of  women.  He  assures  me  there  is  nothing  at 
all  in  it ;  only,  says  he,  we  have  the  advantage,  that  when  our 
wives  cheat  us,  nobody  knows  it.  He  has  wit,  and  is  more 
polite  than  many  Christian  men  of  quality.  I  am  very  much 
entertained  with  him.  He  has  had  the  curiosity  to  make  one 
of  our  servants  set  him  an  alphabet  of  our  letters,  and  can 
already  write  a  good  Roman  hand. 

But  these  amusements  do  not  hinder  my  wishing  heartily 
to  be  out  of  this  place ;  though  the  weather  is  colder  than  I 
believe  it  ever  was  any  where  but  in  Greenland.  We  have 
a  very  large  stove  constantly  kept  hot,  and  yet  the  windows 
of  the  room  are  frozen  on  the  inside.  God  knows  when  I 
may  have  an  opportunity  of  sending  this  letter ;  but  I  have 
written  it,  for  the  discharge  of  my  own  conscience  ;  and  you 
can  not  now  reproach  me,  that  one  of  yours  makes  ten  of 
mine.    Adieu. 


LETTER  V. 

FROM    MR.     POPE 


Madam, — If  to  live  in  the  memory  of  others  have  any  thing 
desirable  in  it,  'tis  what  you  possess  with  regard  to  me,  in  the 
highest  sense  of  the  words.  There  is  not  a  day  in  which 
your  figure  does  not  appear  before  me ;  your  conversations 
return  to  my  thoughts,  and  every  scene,  place,  or  occasion, 
where  I  have  enjoyed  them,  are  as  lively  painted  as  an  imag- 
ination equally  warm  and  tender  can  be  capable  to  represent 
them.  Yet  how  little  accrues  to  you  from  all  this,  when  not 
only  my  wishes,  but  the  very  expressions  of  them,  can  hardly 
ever  arrive  to  be  known  to  you  ?  I  can  not  tell  whether  you 
have  seen  half  the  letters  I  have  written ;  but  if  you  had,  I 
have  not  said  in  them  half  of  what  I  designed  to  say ;  and 
you  can  have  seen  but  a  faint,  slight,  timorous  eschantillon  of 


136  LETTERS     TO     AND 

what  my  spirit  suggests,  and  my  hand  follows  slowly  and  im- 
perfectly, indeed  unjustly,  because  discreetly  and  reservedly. 
When  you  told  me  there  was  no  way  left  for  our  correspond- 
ence but  by  merchant  ships,  I  watched  ever  since  for  any  that 
set  out,  and  this  is  the  first  I  could  learn  of.  I  owe  the 
knowledge  of  it  to  Mr.  Congreve  (whose  letters,  with  my 
Lady  Rich's,  accompany  this).  However,  I  was  impatient 
enough  to  venture  two  from  Mr.  Methuen's  office  :  they  have 
miscarried ;  you  have  lost  nothing  but  such  words  and  wishes 
as  I  repeat  every  day  in  your  memory,  and  for  your  welfare. 
I  have  had  thoughts  of  causing  what  I  write  for  the  future  to 
be  transcribed,  and  to  send  copies  by  more  ways  than  one, 
that  one  at  least  might  have  a  chance  to  reach  you.  The 
letters  themselves  would  be  artless  and  natural  enough  to 
prove  there  could  be  no  vanity  in  this  practice,  and  to  show 
it  proceeded  from  the  belief  of  their  being  welcome  to  you, 
not  as  they  came  from  me,  but  from  England.  My  eye-sight 
is  grown  so  bad  that  I  have  left  off  all  correspondence  except 
with  yourself;  in  which  methinks  I  am  like  those  people  who 
abandon  or  abstract  themselves  from  all  that  are  about  them 
(with  whom  they  might  have  business  and  intercourse),  to 
employ  their  addresses  only  to  invisible  and  distant  beings, 
whose  good  offices  and  favors  can  not  reach  them  in  a  long 
time,  if  at  all.  If  I  hear  from  you,  I  look  upon  it  as  little 
less  than  a  miracle,  or  extraordinary  visitation  from  anothei 
world  ;  'tis  a  sort  of  dream  of  an  agreeable  thing,  which  sub- 
sists no  more  to  me;  but,  however,  it  is  such  a  dream  as  excee  Is 
most  of  the  dull  realities  of  my  life.  Indeed,  what  with  ill- 
health  and  ill-fortune,  I  am  grown  so  stupidly  philosophical  as 
to  have  no  thought  about  me  that  deserves  the  name  of  warm 
or  lively,  but  that  which  sometimes  awakens  me  into  an  im- 
agination that  I  may  yet  see  you  again.  Compassionate  a 
poet,  who  has  lost  all  manner  of  romantic  ideas  ;  except  a 
few  that  hover  about  the  Bosphorus  and  Hellespont,  not  so 
much  for  the  fine  sound  of  their  names,  as  to  raise  up  images 
of  Leander,  who  was  drowned  in   crossing  the  sea  to  kiss  the 


FROM     ALEXANDER     POPE.  137 

hand  of  fair  Hero.  This  were  a  destiny  less  to  be  lamented 
than  what  we  are  told  of  the  poor  Jew,  one  of  your  interpret- 
ers, who  was  beheaded  at  Belgrade  as  a  spy.  I  confess  such 
a  death  would  have  been  a  great  disappointment  to  me  ;  and 
I  believe  that  Jacob  Tonson  will  hardly  venture  to  visit  you 
after  this  news. 

You  tell  me  the  pleasure  of  being  nearer  the  sun  has  a 
great  effect  upon  your  health  and  spirits.  You  have  turned 
my  affections  so  far  eastward,  that  I  could  almost  be  one  of  his 
worshipers  ;  for  I  think  the  sun  has  more  reason  to  be  proud 
of  raising  your  spirits  than  of  raising  all  the  plants,  and  ripen- 
ing all  the  minerals,  in  the  earth.  It  is  my  opinion  a  reason- 
able man  might  gladly  travel  three  or  four  thousand  leagues 
to  see  your  nature  and  your  wit  in  their  full  perfection. 
What  may  not  we  expect  from  a  creature  that  went  out  the 
most  perfect  of  this  part  of  the  world,  and  is  every  day  im- 
proving by  the  sun  in  the  other  !  If  you  do  not  now  write  and 
speak  the  finest  things  imaginable,  you  must  be  content  to  be 
involved  in  the  same  imputation  with  the  rest  of  the  East,  and 
be  concluded  to  have  abandoned  yourself  to  extreme  effemin- 
acy, laziness,  and  lewdness  of  life. 

I  make  not  the  least  question  but  you  could  give  me  great 
eclaircissements  upon  many  passages  in  Homer,  since  you 
have  been  enlightened  by  the  same  sun  that  inspired  the 
father  of  poetry.  You  are  now  glowing  under  the  climate 
that  animated  him ;  you  may  see  his  images  rising  more 
boldly  about  you  in  the  very  scenes  of  his  story  and  action  ; 
you  may  lay  the  immortal  work  on  some  broken  column  of  a 
hero's  sepulclier ;  and  read  the  fall  of  Troy  in  the  shade  of  a 
Trojan  ruin.  But  if,  to  visit  the  tomb  of  so  many  heroes,  you 
have  not  the  heart  to  pass  over  that  sea  where  once  a  lover 
perished,  you  may  at  least,  at  ease  in  your  own  window,  con- 
template the  fields  of  Asia  in  such  a  dim  and  remote  prospect 
as  you  have  of  Homer  in  my  translation. 

I  send  you,  therefore,  with  this,  the  third  volume  of  the 
Iliad,  and  as  many  other  things  as  fill  a  wooden  box,  directed 


J  38  LETTERS     TO     AND 

to  Mr.  Wortley.  Among  the  rest  you  have  all  I  am  worth, 
that  is,  my  works :  there  are  few  things  in  them  but  what  you 
have  already  seen,  except  the  epistle  of  Eloisa  to  Abelard,  in 
which  you  will  find  one  passage,  that  I  can  not  tell  whether 
to  wish  you  should  understand  or  not. 

The  last  I  received  from  your  hands  was  from  Peterwaradin ; 
it  gave  me  the  joy  of  thinking  you  in  good  health  and  humor : 
one  or  two  expressions  in  it  are  too  generous  ever  to  be  for- 
gotten by  me.  I  writ  a  very  melancholy  one  just  before, 
which  was  sent  to  Mr.  Stanyan,  to  be  forwarded  through  Hun- 
gary. It  would  have  informed  you  how  meanly  I  thought  of 
the  pleasures  of  Italy,  without  the  qualification  of  your  com- 
pany, and  that  mere  statues  and  pictures  are  not  more  cold  to 
me  than  I  to  them.  I  have  had  but  four  of  your  letters ;  I 
have  sent  several,  and  wish  I  knew  how  many  you  have  re- 
ceived. For  God's  sake,  madam,  send  to  me  as  often  as  you 
can,  in  the  dependence  that  there  is  no  man  breathing  more 
constantly  or  more  anxiously  mindful  of  you.  Tell  me  that 
you  are  well ;  tell  me  that  your  little  son  is  well,  tell  me  that 
your  very  dog  (if  you  have  one)  is  well.  Defraud  me  of  no 
one  thing  that  pleases  you  ;  for  whatever  that  is,  it  will  please 
me  better  than  any  thing  else  can  do. 


LETTER  VI. 

TO     MR.     POPE. 

Adrianople,  April  1,  0.  S.,  1*717. 
I  dare  say  you  expect  at  least  something  very  new  in  this 
letter,  after  I  have  gone  a  journey  not  undertaken  by  any 
Christian  for  some  hundred  years.  The  most  remarkable  ac- 
cident that  happened  to  me,  was  my  being  very  near  over- 
turned into  the  Hebrus ;  and,  if  I  had  much  regard  for  the 
glories  that  one's  name  enjoys  after  death,  I  should  certainly 
be  sorry  for  having  missed  the  romantic  conclusion  of  swim- 


FROM      ALEXANDER      POPE.  139 

ming  down  the  same  river  in  which  the  musical  head  of  Or- 
pheus repeated  verses  so  many  ages  since : 

Caput  a  cervice  revulsum, 
Gurgite  cum  medio,  portans  Oeagrius  Hebrus 
Volveret,  Eurydicen  vox  ipsa,  et  frigida  lingua; 
Ah!  miseram  Eurydicem!  anima  fugiente  vocabat, 
Eurydicem  toto  referebant  flumine  ripse. 

Who  knows  but  some  of  your  bright  wits  might  have  found 
it  a  subject  affording  many  poetical  turns,  and  have  told  the 
world,  in  an  heroic  elegy,  that, 

As  equal  were  our  souls,  so  equal  were  our  fates  ? 

I  despair  of  ever  hearing  so  many  fine  things  said  of  me  as 
so  extraordinary  a  death  would  have  given  occasion  for. 

I  am  at  this  present  moment  writing  in  a  house  situated  on 
the  banks  of  the  Hebrus,  which  runs  under  my  chamber  win- 
dow. My  garden  is  all  full  of  cypress-trees,  upon  the  branches 
of  which  several  couple  of  true  turtles  are  saying  soft  things 
to  one  another  from  morning  till  night.  How  naturally  do 
boughs  and  vows  come  into  my  mind  at  this  minute  !  and  must 
not  you  confess,  to  my  praise,  that  'tis  more  than  an  ordinary 
discretion  that  can  resist  the  wicked  suggestions  of  poetry,  in 
a  place  where  truth,  for  once,  furnishes  all  the  ideas  of  pasto- 
ral. The  summer  is  already  far  advanced  in  this  part  of  the 
world ;  and  for  some  miles  round  Adrianople,  the  whole 
ground  is  laid  out  in  gardens,  and  the  banks  of  the  rivers  are 
set  with  rows  of  fruit-trees,  under  which  all  the  most  consider- 
able Turks  divert  themselves  every  evening ;  not  with  walking, 
that  is  not  one  of  their  pleasures,  but  a  set  party  of  them 
choose  out  a  green  spot,  where  the  shade  is  very  thick,  and 
there  they  spread  a  carpet,  on  which  they  sit  drinking  their 
coffee,  and  are  generally  attended  by  some  slave  with  a  fine 
voice,  or  that  plays  on  some  instrument.  Every  twenty  paces 
you  may  see  one  of  these  little  companies  listening  to  the  dash- 
ing of  the  river ;  and  this  taste  is  so  universal  that  the  very 


140  LETTERS     TO     AND 

gardeners  are  not  without  it.  I  have  often  seen  them  and 
their  children  sitting  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  playing 
on  a  rural  instrument,  perfectly  answering  the  description  of 
the  ancient  fistula,  being  composed  of  unequal  reeds,  with  a 
simple  but  agreeable  softness  in  the  sound. 

Mr.  Addison  might  here  make  the  experiment  he  speaks  of 
in  his  travels ;  there  not  being  one  instrument  of  music  among 
the  Greek  or  Roman  statues,  that  is  not  to  be  found  in  the 
hands  of  the  people  of  this  country.  The  young  lads  gen- 
erally divert  themselves  with  making  garlands  for  their  favor- 
ite lambs,  which  I  have  often  seen  painted  and  adorned  with 
flowers  lying  at  their  feet  while  they  sung  or  played.  It  is 
not  that  they  ever  read  romances,  but  these  are  the  ancient 
amusements  here,  and  as  natural  to  them  as  cudgel-playing 
and  foot-ball  to  our  British  swains ;  the  softness  and  warmth 
of  the  climate  forbidding  all  rough  exercises,  which  were  never 
so  much  as  heard  of  among  them,  and  naturally  inspiring  a 
laziness  and  aversion  to  labor,  which  the  great  plenty  indulges. 
These  gardeners  are  the  only  happy  race  of  country  people  in 
Turkey.  They  furnish  all  the  city  with  fruits  and  herbs,  and 
seem  to  live  very  easily.  They  are  most  of  them  Greeks,  and 
have  little  houses  in  the  midst  of  their  gardens,  where  their 
wives  and  daughters  take  a  liberty  not  permitted  in  the  town,  I 
mean,  to  go  unvailed.  These  wenches  are  very  neat  and 
handsome,  and  pass  their  time  at  their  looms  under  the  shade 
of  the  trees. 

I  no  longer  look  upon  Theocritus  as  a  romantic  writer ;  he 
has  only  given  a  plain  image  of  the  way  of  the  life  among 
the  peasants  of  his  country ;  who,  before  oppression  had  re- 
duced them  to  want,  were,  I  suppose,  all  employed  as  the  bet- 
ter sort  of  them  are  now.  I  don't  doubt,  had  he  been  born 
a  Briton,  but  his  Idylliums  had  been  filled  with  descriptions 
of  thrashing  and  churning,  both  which  are  unknown  here,  the 
corn  being  all  trodden  out  by  oxen ;  and  butter,  I  speak  it 
with  sorrow,  unheard  of. 

I  read  over  your  Homer  here  with  an  infinite  pleasure,  and 


PROM      ALEXANDER      POPE.  141 

find  several  little  passages  explained  that  I  did  not  before  en- 
tirely comprehend  the  beauty  of;  many  of  the  customs,  and 
much  of  the  dress  then  in  fashion,  being  yet  retained.  I  don't 
wonder  to  find  more  remains  here  of  an  age  so  distant  than 
is  to  be  found  in  any  other  country,  the  Turks  not  taking  that 
pains  to  introduce  their  own  manners  as  has  been  generally 
practiced  by  other  nations,  that  imagine  themselves  more 
polite.  It  would  be  too  tedious  to  you  to  point  out  all  the 
passages  that  relate  to  present  customs.  But  I  can  assure  you 
that  the  princesses  and  great  ladies  pass  their  time  at  their 
looms,  embroidering  vails  and  robes,  surrounded  by  their 
maids,  which  are  always  very  numerous,  in  the  same  manner 
as  we  find  Andromache  and  Helen  described.  The  description 
of  the  belt  of  Menelaus  exactly  resembles  those  that  are  now 
worn  by  the  great  men,  fastened  before  with  broad  golden 
clasps,  and  embroidered  round  with  rich  work.  The  snowy 
vail  that  Helen  throws  over  her  face,  is  still  fashionable  ;  and 
I  never  see  half  a  dozen  of  old  bashaws  (as  I  do  very  often), 
with  their  reverend  beards,  sitting  basking  in  the  sun,  but  I 
recollect  good  King  Priam  and  his  counselors.  Their  man- 
ner of  dancing  is  certainly  the  same  that  Diana  is  sung  to  have 
danced  on  the  banks  of  Eurotas.  The  great  lady  still  leads 
the  dance,  and  is  followed  by  a  troop  of  young  girls,  who  im- 
itate her  steps,  and,  if  she  sing,  make  up  the  chorus.  The 
tunes  are  extremely  gay  and  lively,  yet  with  something  in 
them  wonderfully  soft.  The  steps  are  varied  according  to 
the  pleasure  of  her  that  leads  the  dance,  but  always  in  exact 
time,  and  infinitely  more  agreeable  than  any  of  our  dances,  at 
least  in  my  opinion.  I  sometimes  make  one  in  the  train,  but 
am  not  skillful  enough  to  lead ;  these  are  the  Grecian  dances, 
the  Turkish  being  very  different. 

I  should  have  told  you,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  Eastern 
manner  gives  a  great  light;  into  many  Scripture  passages  that 
appear  odd  to  us,  their  phrases  being  commonly  what  we 
should  call  Scripture  language.  The  vulgar  Turk  is  very  dif- 
ferent from  what  is  spoken  at  court,  or  among  the  people  of 


142  LETTERS     TO     AND 

figure,  who  always  mix  so  much  Arabic  and  Persian  in  their 
discourse,  that  it  may  very  well  be  called  another  language. 
And  'tis  as  ridiculous  to  make  use  of  the  expressions  common- 
ly used,  in  speaking  to  a  great  man  or  lady,  as  it  would  be  to 
speak  broad  Yorkshire  or  Somersetshire  in  the  drawing-room. 
Besides  this  distinction,  they  have  what  they  call  the  sublime, 
that  is,  a  style  proper  for  poetry,  and  which  is  the  exact 
Scripture  style.  I  believe  you  will  be  pleased  to  see  a  genuine 
example  of  this ;  and  I  am  very  glad  I  have  it  in  my  power 
to  satisfy  your  curiosity,  by  sending  you  a  faithful  copy  of  the 
verses  that  Ibrahim  Pasha,  the  reigning  favorite,  has  made  for 
the  young  princess,  his  contracted  wife,  whom  he  is  not  yet 
permitted  to  visit  without  witnesses,  though  she  is  gone  home 
to  his  house.  He  is  a  man  of  wit  and  learning ;  and  whether 
or  no  he  is  capable  of  writing  good  verse,  you  may  be  sure 
that,  on  such  an  occasion,  he  would  not  want  the  assistance  of 
the  best  poets  in  the  empire.  Thus  the  verses  may  be  looked 
upon  as  a  sample  of  their  finest  poetry ;  and  I  don't  doubt 
you  '11  be  of  my  mind,  that  it  is  most  wonderfully  resembling 
The  Song  of  Solomon,  which  was  also  addressed  to  a  royal 
bride. 

TURKISH  VERSES  ADDRESSED  TO  THE  SULTANA, 

ELDEST  DAUGHTER  OF  ACHMET  IIL 
STANZA   L 

1.  The  nightingale  now  wanders  in  the  vines : 
Her  passion  is  to  seek  roses. 

2.  I  went  down  to  admire  the  beauty  of  the  vines : 
The  sweetness  of  your  charms  has  ravished  my  soul. 

3.  Tour  eyes  are  black  and  lovely, 

.  But  wild  and  disdainful  as  those  of  a  stag.* 


*  Sir  W.  Jones,  in  the  preface  to  his  Persian  Grammar,  objects  to  this 
translation.  The  expression  is  merely  analogous  to  the  "  Bowing  "  of 
Homer. 


FROM     ALEXANDER     POPE.  143 

STANZA  II. 

1.  The  wished  possession  is  delayed  from  day  to  day ; 
The  cruel  Sultan  Achrnet  will  not  permit  me 

To  see  those  cheeks,  more  vermillion  than  roses. 

2.  I  dare  not  snatch  one  of  your  kisses : 

The  sweetness  of  your  charms  has  ravished  my  souL 

8.    Tour  eyes  are  black  and  lovely, 

But  wild  and  disdainful  as  those  of  a  stag. 


stanza  in. 

1.  The  wretched  Ibrahim  sighs  in  these  verses : 

One  dart  from  your  eyes  has  pierced  thro'  my  heart. 

2.  Ah  1  when  will  the  hour  of  possession  arrive  ? 
Must  I  yet  wait  a  long  time  ? 

The  sweetness  of  your  charms  has  ravish'd  my  soul. 

3.  Ah,  Sultana  I  stag-eyed — an  angel  among  angels  I 
I  desire — and  my  desire  remains  unsatisfied — 
Can  you  take  delight  to  prey  upon  my  heart  ? 

stanza  rv. 

1.  My  cries  pierce  the  heavens  1 
My  eyes  are  without  sleep  1 

Turn  to  me,  Sultana — let  me  gaze  on  thy  beauty. 

2.  Adieu — I  go  down  to  the  grave. 
If  you  call  me — I  return. 

My  heart  is  hot  as  sulphur ;  sigh,  and  it  will  flame. 

ii.     Crown  of  my  life !  fair  light  of  my  eyes  1 
My  Sultana  I  my  princess  ? 
I  rub  my  face  against  the  earth — I  am  drowned  in  scalding  tears-— 

I  rave  1 
Have  you  no  compassion  ?    Will  you  not  turn  to  look  upon  me  1 

I  have  taken  abundance  of  pains  to  get  these  verses  a  literal 
translation ;  and  if  you  were  acquainted  with  my  interpreters, 
I  might  spare  myself  the  trouble  of  assuring  you  that  they 
have  received  no  poetical  touches  from  their  hands.     In  ray 


144  LETTERS     TO     AND 

opinion,  allowing  for  the  inevitable  faults  of  a  prose  transla- 
tion into  a  language  so  very  different,  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
beauty  in  them.  The  epithet  of  stag-eyed,  though  the  sound 
is  not  very  agreeable  in  English,  pleases  me  extremely ;  and  I 
think  it  a  very  lively  image  of  the  fire  and  indifference  in  his 
m Stress's  eyes.  Monsieur  Boileau  has  very  justly  observed, 
that  we  are  never  to  judge  of  the  elevation  of  an  expression  of 
an  ancient  author  by  the  sound  it  carries  with  us ;  since  it  may 
be  extremely  fine  with  them,  when,  at  the  same  time,  it  appears 
low  or  uncouth  to  us.  You  are  so  well  acquainted  with  Homer, 
you  can  not  but  have  observed  the  same  thing,  and  you  must 
have  the  same  indulgence  for  all  Oriental  poetry. 

The  repetitions  at  the  end  of  the  two  first  stanzas  are  meant 
for  a  sort  of  chorus,  and  are  agreeable  to  the  ancient  manner 
of  writing.  The  music  of  the  verses  apparently  changes  in 
the  third  stanza,  where  the  burthen  is  altered  ;  and  I  think  he 
very  artfully  seems  more  passionate  at  the  conclusion,  as  'tis 
natural  for  people  to  warm  themselves  by  their  own  discourse, 
especially  on  a  subject  in  which  one  is  deeply  concerned  ;  'tis 
certainly  far  more  touching  than  our  modern  custom  of  con- 
cluding a  song  of  passion  with  a  turn  which  is  inconsistent,  with 
it.  The  first  verse  is  a  description  of  the  season  of  the  year ; 
all  the  country  now  being  full  of  nightingales,  whose  amours 
with  roses  is  an  Arabian  fable,  as  well  known  here  as  any  part 
of  Ovid  among  us,  and  is  much  the  same  as  if  an  English 
poem  should  begin  by  saying — "  Now  Philomela  sings."  Or 
what  if  I  turned  the  whole  in  to  the  style  of  English  poetry,  to 
see  how  it  would  look  ? 

STANZA   I. 

Now  Philomel  renews  her  tender  strain, 
Indulging  all  the  night  her  pleasing  pain: 

I  sought  the  groves  to  hear  the  wanton  sing, 
There  saw  a  face  more  beauteous  than  the  spring. 

Tour  large  stag-eyes,  where  thousand  glories  play, 
As  bright,  as  lively,  but  as  wild  as  they. 


FROM     ALEXANDER      POPE.  I4h 

STANZA  II. 
In  vain  I  'm  promised  such  a  heav'nly  prize  ; 
Ah  I  cruel  Sultan!  who  delay  'st  my  joys  1 

While  piercing  charms  transfix  my  am'rous  heart, 
I  dare  not  snatch  one  kiss  to  ease  the  smart. 

Those  eyes!  like,  etc. 

STANZA  III. 

Tour  wretched  lover  in  these  lines  complains ; 
From  those  dear  beauties  rise  his  killing  pains. 

When  will  the  hour  of  wished-for  bliss  arrive  ? 
Must  I  wait  longer  ?     Can  I  wait  and  live  ? 

Ah !  bright  Sultana !  maid  divinely  fair ! 
Can  you,  unpitying,  see  the  pains  I  bear? 

STANZA   IV. 

The  heavens  relenting,  hear  my  piercing  cries, 
I  loathe  the  light,  and  sleep  forsakes  my  eyes ; 
Turn  thee,  Sultana,  ere  thy  lover  dies : 

Sinking  to  earth,  I  sigh  the  last  adieu ; 
Call  me,  my  goddess,  and  my  life  renew. 

My  queen !  my  angel !  my  fond  heart's  desire ! 
I  rave — my  bosom  burns  with  heavenly  fire ! 
Pity  that  passion  which  thy  charms  inspire. 

I  have  taken  the  liberty,  in  the  second  verse,  of  following 
what  I  suppose  the  true  sense  of  the  author,  though  not  liter- 
ally expressed.  By  his  saying,  He  went  down  to  admire  the 
beauty  of  the  vines,  and  her  charms  ravished  his  soul,  I  under- 
stand a  poetical  fiction,  of  having  first  seen  her  in  a  garden, 
where  he  was  admiring  the  beauty  of  the  spring.  But  I  could 
not  forbear  retaining  the  comparison  of  her  eyes  with  those  of 
a  stag,  though,  perhaps,  the  novelty  of  it  may  give  it  a  bur- 
lesque sound  in  our  language.  I  can  not  determine  upon  the 
whole  how  well  I  have  succeeded  in  the  translation,  neither 
do  I  think  our  English  proper  to  express  such  violence  of  pas- 

1 


146  LETTERS    TO     AND 

sion,  which  is  very  seldom  felt  among  us.  We  want  also 
those  compound  words  which  are  very  frequent  and  strong  in 
the  Turkish  language. 

You  see  I  am  pretty  far  gone  in  Oriental  learning ;  and  to 
say  truth,  I  study  very  hard.  I  wish  my  studies  may  give  me 
an  occasion  of  entertaining  your  curiosity,  which  will  be  the 
utmost  advantage  hoped  for  from  them  by  Yours,  etc. 


LETTER  VII. 

TO     MR.     POPE. 

Belgrade  Village,  June  17,  0.  S.  1717 
I  hope  before  this  time  you  have  received  two  or  three  of 
my  letters.  I  had  yours  but  yesterday,  though  dated  the 
third  of  February,  in  which  you  suppose  me  to  be  dead  and 
buried.  I  have  already  let  you  know  that  I  am  still  alive  ; 
but,  to  say  truth,  I  look  upon  my  present  circumstances  to  be 
exactly  the  same  with  those  of  departed  spirits. 

The  heats  of  Constantinople  have  driven  me  to  this  place, 
which  perfectly  answers  the  description  of  the  Elysian  fields. 
I  am  in  the  middle  of  a  wood,  consisting  chiefly  of  fruit- 
trees,  watered  by  a  vast  number  of  fountains,  famous  for  the 
excellency  of  their  water,  and  divided  into  many  shady  walks, 
upon  short  grass,  that  seems  to  me  artificial ;  but,  I  am  as- 
sured, is  the  pure  work  of  nature,  and  within  view  of  the 
Black  Sea,  from  whence  we  perpetually  enjoy  the  refreshment 
of  cool  breezes,  that  make  us  insensible  of  the  heat  of  the 
summer.  The  village  is  only  inhabited  by  the  richest  among 
the  Christians,  who  meet  every  night  at  a  fountain,  forty 
paces  from  my  house,  to  sing  and  dance.  The  beauty  and 
dress  of  the  women  exactly  resemble  the  ideas  of  the  ancient 
nymphs,  as  they  are  given  us  by  the  representations  of  the 
poets  and  painters.  But  what  persuades  me  more  fully  of 
my  decease,  is  the  situation  of  my  own  mind,  the  profound  ig- 
norance I  am  in  of  what  passes  among  the  living  (which  only 


PROM      ALEXANDER     POPE.  147 

comes  to  me  by  chance),  and  the  great  calmness  with  which  I 
receive  it.  Yet  I  have  still  a  hankering  after  my  friends  and 
acquaintances  left  in  the  world,  according  to  the  authority  of 
that  admirable  author, 

That  spirits  departed  are  wondrous  kind 
To  friends  and  relations  left  behind  : 

Which  nobody  can  deny. 

Of  which  solemn  truth  I  am  a  dead  instance.  I  think  Vir* 
gil  is  of  the  same  opinion,  that  in  human  souls  there  will  still 
be  some  remains  of  human  passions. 

Curae  non  ipsse  in  morte  relinquunt. 

And  'tis  very  necessary,  to  make  a  perfect  Elysium,  that  there 
should  be  a  river  Lethe,  which  I  am  not  so  happy  as  to  find. 

To  say  truth,  I  am  sometimes  very  weary  of  the  singing 
and  dancing,  and  sunshine,  and  wish  for  the  smoke  and  im- 
pertinencies  in  which  you  toil,  though  I  endeavor  to  persuade 
myself  that  I  live  in  a  more  agreeable  variety  than  you  do  ; 
and .  that  Monday,  setting  of  partridges — Tuesday,  reading- 
English — Wednesday,  studying  in  the  Turkish  language  (in 
which,  by  the  way,  I  am  already  very  learned) — Thursday, 
classical  authors — Friday,  spent  in  writing — Saturday,  at  my 
needle — and  Sunday,  admitting  of  visits,  and  hearing  of  mu- 
sic, is  a  better  way  of  disposing  of  the  week  than — Monday, 
at  the  drawing-room — Tuesday,  Lady  Mohun's — Wednesday, 
at  the  opera — Thursday,  the  play — Friday,  Mrs.  Chetwynd's, 
etc.,  a  perpetual  round  of  hearing  the  same  scandal,  and  see- 
ing the  same  follies  acted  over  and  over,  which  here  affect 
me  no  more  than  they  do  other  dead  people.  I  can  now  hear 
of  displeasing  things  with  pity,  and  without  indignation. 
The  reflection  on  the  great  gulf  between  you  and  me,  cools 
all  news  that  come  hither.  I  can  neither  be  sensibly  touched 
with  joy  nor  grief,  when  I  consider  that  possibly  the  cause  of 
either  is  removed  before  the  letter  comes  to  my  hands.  But 
(as  I  said  before)  this  indolence  does  not  extend  to  my  few 


148  LETTERS     TO     AND 

friendships ;  I  am  still  warmly  sensible  of  yours  and  Mr. 
Congreve's,  and  desire  to  live  in  your  remembrance,  though 
dead  to  all  the  world  beside. 


LETTER  VIII. 

FROM     MR.     POPE. 


Madam,' — I  could  quarrel  with  you  quite  through  this  pa- 
per, upon  a  period  in  yours,  which  bids  me  remember  you 
if  possibly  I  can.  You  would  have  shown  more  knowledge 
both  of  yourself  and  of  me,  had  you  bid  me  forget  you  if 
possibly  I  could.  When  I  do,  may  this  hand  (as  the  Scrip- 
ture says)  forget  its  cunning,  and  this  heart  its — folly,  I  was 
going  to  say — but  I  mean  its  reason,  and  the  most  rational 
sensation  it  ever  had — that  of  your  merit. 

The  poetical  manner  in  which  you  paint  some  of  the  scenes 
about  you,  makes  me  despise  my  native  country,  and  sets  me 
on  fire  to  fall  into  the  dance  about  your  fountain  in  Belgrade 
village.  I  fancy  myself,  in  my  romantic  thoughts  and  dis- 
tant admiration  of  you,  not  unlike  the  man  in  the  Alchymist, 
that  has  a  passion  for  the  queen  of  the  fairies ;  I  lie  dream- 
ing of  you  in  moonshiny  nights,  exactly  in  the  posture  of 
Endymion  gaping  for  Cynthia  in  a  picture ;  and  with  just 
such  a  surprise  and  rapture  should  I  awake,  if,  after  your 
long  revolutions  were  accomplished,  you  should  at  last  come 
rolling  back  again,  smiling  with  all  that  gentleness  and  se- 
renity peculiar  to  the  moon  and  you,  and  gilding  the  same 
mountains  from  which  you  first  set  out  on  your  solemn, 
melancholy  journey.  I  am  told  that  fortune  (more  just  to  us 
than  your  virtue)  will  restore  the  most  precious  thing  it  ever 
robbed  us  of.  Some  think  it  will  be  the  only  equivalent  the 
world  affords  for  Pitt's  diamond,  so  lately  sent  out  of  our 
country;  which,  after  you  were  gone,  was  accounted  the 
most  valuable  thing  here.  Adieu  to  that  toy!  let  the  costly 
bauble  be  hung  about  the  neck  of  the  baby-king  it  belongs 


FROM      ALEXANDER     POPE.  149 

to,  so  England  does  but  recover  that  jewel  which  was  the  wish 
of  all  her  sensible  hearts,  and  the  joy  of  all  her  discerning 
eyes.  I  can  keep  no  measures  in  speaking  of  this  subject. 
I  see  you  already  coming ;  I  feel  you  as  you  draw  nearer ; 
my  heart  leaps  at  your  arrival.  Let  us  have  you  from  the 
East,  and  the  sun  is  at  her  service. 

I  write  as  if  I  were  drunk  ;  the  pleasure  I  take  in  thinking 
of  your  return  transports  me  beyond  the  bounds  of  common 
sense  and  decency.  You  believe  me,  madam,  if  there  be  any 
circumstance  of  chagrin  in  the  occasion  of  that  return,  if 
there  be  any  public  or  private  ill-fortune  that  may  give  you  a 
displeasure,  I  must  still  be  ready  to  feel  a  part  of  it,  notwith- 
standing the  joy  I  now  express. 

I  have  been  mad  enough  to  make  all  the  inquiry  I  could  at 
what  time  you  set  out,  and  what  route  you  were  to  take.  If 
Italy  run  yet  in  your  thoughts,  I  hope  you  '11  see  it  in  your 
return.  If  I  but  knew  you  intended  it,  I  'd  meet  you  there, 
and  travel  back  with  you.  I  would  fain  behold  the  best  and 
brightest  thing  I  know,  in  the  scene  of  ancient  virtue  and 
glory :  I  would  fain  see  how  you  look  on  the  very  spot  where 
Curtius  sacrificed  himself  for  his  country ;  and  observe  what 
difference  there  would  be  in  your  eyes  when  you  ogled  the 
statue  of  Julius  Csesar,  and  Marcus  Aurelius.  Allow  me  but 
to  sneak  after  you  in  your  train,  to  fill  my  pockets  with  coins, 
or  to  lug  an  old  busto  behind  you,  and  I  shall  be  proud  be- 
yond expression.  Let  people  think,  if  they  will,  that  I  did 
all  this  for  the  pleasure  of  treading  on  classic  ground  ;  I  would 
whisper  other  reasons  in  your  ear.  The  joy  of  following 
your  footsteps  would  as  soon  carry  me  to  Mecca  as  to  Rome ; 
and  let  me  tell  you  as  a  friend,  if  you  are  really  disposed  to 
embrace  the  Mohammedan  religion,  I'll  fly  on  pilgrimage 
with  you  thither,  with  as  good  a  heart  and  as  sound  devo- 
tion as  ever  Jeffery  Rudel,  the  Provencal  poet,  went  after  the 
fine  Countess  of  Tripoli  to  Jerusalem.  If  you  never  heard  of 
this  Jeffery,  I  '11  assure  you  he  deserves  your  acquaintance. 
He  lived  in  our  Richard  the  First's  time  ;  put  on  a  pilgrim's 


150  LETTERS    TO    AND 

weed,  took  his  voyage,  and  when  he  got  ashore  was  just  upon 
the  point  of  expiring.  The  Countess  of  Tripoli  came  to  the 
ship,  took  him  by  the  hand ;  he  lifted  up  his  eyes,  said  he 
had  been  blest  with  a  sight  of  her,  he  was  satisfied,  and  so 
departed  this  life.  What  did  the  Countess  of  Tripoli  upon 
this  ?  She  made  him  a  splendid  funeral ;  built  him  a  tomb 
of  porphyry ;  put  his  epitaph  upon  it  in  Arabic  verse ;  had 
his  sonnets  curiously  copied  out,  and  illumined  with  letters 
of  gold ;  was  taken  with  melancholy,  and  turned  nun.  All 
this,  madam,  you  may  depend  upon  for  a  truth,  and  I  send 
it  to  you  in  the  very  words  of  my  author. 

I  don't  expect  all  this  should  be  punctually  copied  on 
either  side,  but  methinks  something  like  it  is  done  already. 
The  letters  of  gold,  and  the  curious  illumining  of  the  sonnets, 
was  not  a  greater  token  of  respect  than  I  have  paid  to  your 
eclogues :  they  lie  inclosed  in  a  monument  of  red  Turkey, 
written  in  my  fairest  hand  ;  the  gilded  leaves  are  opened  with 
no  less  veneration  than  the  pages  of  the  sibyls ;  like  them, 
locked  up  and  concealed  from  all  profane  eyes ;  none  but 
my  own  have  beheld  these  sacred  remains  of  yourself,  and  I 
should  think  it  as  great  a  wickedness  to  divulge  them  as  to 
scatter  abroad  the  ashes  of  my  ancestors.  As  for  the  rest,  if 
I  have  not  followed  you  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  'tis  not  my 
fault ;  if  I  had,  I  might  possibly  have  died  as  gloriously  as 
Jeffery  Rudel ;  and  if  I  had  so  died,  you  might  probably  have 
done  every  thing  for  me  that  the  Countess  of  Tripoli  did,  ex- 
cept turning  nun. 

But  since  our  romance  is  like  to  have  a  more  fortunate  con- 
clusion, I  desire  you  to  take  another  course  to  express  your 
favor  toward  me ;  I  mean  by  bringing  over  the  fair  Circassian 
we  used  to  talk  of.  I  was  serious  in  that  request,  and  will 
prove  it  by  paying  for  her,  if  you  will  lay  out  my  money  so 
well  for  me.  The  thing  shall  be  as  secret  as  you  please,  and 
the  lady  made  another  half  of  me,  that  is,  both  my  mistress 
and  my  servant,  as  I  am  both  my  own  servant  and  my  own 
master.     But  I  beg  you  to  look  oftener  than  you  used  to  do 


FROM       ALEXANDER      POPE.  151 

in  your  glass,  in  order  to  choose  me  one  I  may  like.  If  you 
have  any  regard  to  my  happiness,  let  there  be  something  as 
near  as  possible  to  that  face ;  but,  if  you  please,  the  colors  a 
little  less  vivid,  the  eyes  a  little  less  bright  (such  as  reflection 
will  show  'em) ;  in  short,  let  her  be  such  a  one  as  you  seem 
in  your  own  eyes,  that  is,  a  good  deal  less  amiable  than  you 
are.  Take  care  of  this,  if  you  have  any  regard  to  my  quiet; 
for  otherwise,  instead  of  being  her  master,  I  must  be  only  her 
slave. 


LETTER  IX. 

FROM     MR.     POPE, 


September  1. 

Madam, — I  have  been  (what  I  never  was  till  now)  in  debt 
to  you  for  a  letter  some  weeks.  I  was  informed  you  were  at 
sea,  and  that 't  was  to  no  purpose  to  write  till  some  news  had 
been  heard  of  your  arriving  somewhere  or  other.  Besides,  I 
have  had  a  second  dangerous  illness,  from  which  I  was  more 
diligent  to  be  recovered  than  from  the  first,  having  now  some 
hopes  of  seeing  you  again.  If  you  make  any  tour  in  Italy,  I 
shall  not  easily  forgive  you  for  not  acquainting  me  soon 
enough  to  have  met  you  there.  I  am  very  certain  I  can  never 
be  polite  unless  I  travel  with  you  :  and  it  is  never  to  be  re- 
paired, the  loss  that  Homer  has  sustained,  for  want  of  my 
translating  him  in  Asia.  You  will  come  hither  full  of  criti- 
cisms against  a  man  who  wanted  nothing  to  be  in  the  right 
but  to  have  kept  you  company  ;  you  have  no  way  of  making 
me  amends  but  by  continuing  an  Asiatic  when  you  return  to 
me,  whatever  English  airs  you  may  put  on  to  other  people. 

I  prodigiously  long  for  your  sonnets,  your  remarks,  your 
Oriental  learning ;  but  I  long  for  nothing  so  much  as  your 
Oriental  self.  You  must  of  necessity  be  advanced .  so  far  bach 
into  true  nature  and  simplicity  of  manners  by  these  three 
years'  residence  in  the  east,  that  I  shall  look  upon  you  as  so 


152  LETTERS     TO     AND 

many  years  younger  than  you  were,  so  much  nearer  innocence 
(that  is,  truth)  and  infancy  (that  is,  openness).  I  expect  to  see 
your  soul  as  much  thinner  dressed  as  your  body  ;  and  that 
you  have  left  off,  as  unwieldy  and  cumbersome,  a  great  many 
European  habits.  Without  offense  to  your  modesty  be  it 
spoken,  I  have  a  burning  desire  to  see  your  soul  stark  naked, 
for  I  am  confident  'tis  the  prettiest  kind  of  white  soul  in  the 
universe.  But  I  forget  whom  I  am  talking  to  ;  you  may  pos- 
sibly by  this  time  believe,  according  to  the  prophet,  that  you 
have  none ;  if  so,  show  me  that  which  corned  next  to  a  soul ; 
you  may  easily  put  it  upon  a  poor  ignorant  Christian  for  a 
soul,  and  please  him  as  well  with  it ;  I  mean  your  heart ; 
Mohammed,  I  think,  allows  you  hearts  ;  which  (together  with 
fine  eyes  and  other  agreeable  equivalents)  are  worth  all  the 
souls  on  this  side  the  world.  But  if  I  must  be  content  with 
seeing  your  body  only,  God  send  it  to  come  quickly :  I  honor 
it  more  than  the  diamond  casket  that  held  Homer's  Iliads ; 
for  in  the  verj»  twinkle  of  one  eye  of  it  there  is  more  wit,  and 
in  the  very  dimple  of  one  cheek  of  it  there  is  more  meaning 
than  all  the  souls  that  ever  were  casually  put  into  women 
since  men  had  the  making  of  them. 

I  have  a  mind  to  fill  the  rest  of  this  paper  with  an  accident 
that  happened  just  under  my  eyes,  and  has  made  a  great  im- 
pression upon  me.  I  have  just  passed  part  of  this  summer  at 
an  old  romantic  seat  of  my  Lord  Harcourt's,  which  he  lent 
me*  It  overlooks  a  •  common-field,  where,  under  the  shade 
of  a  hay-cock,  sat  two  lovers,  as  constant  as  ever  were  found 
in  romance,  beneath  a  spreading  beech.  The  name  of  the 
one  (let  it  sound  as  it  will)  was  John  He  wet,  of  the  other 
Sarah  Drew.  John  was  a  well-set  man  about  five  and  twenty  ; 
Sarah  a  brown  woman  of  eighteen.  John  had  for  several 
months  borne  the  labor  of  the  day  in  the  same  field  with 
Sarah ;  when  she  milked,  it  was  his  morning  and  evening 
charge  to  bring  the  cows  to  her  pail.  Their  love  was  the  talk, 
but  not  the  scandal,  of  the  whole  neighborhood ;  for  all  they 
*  At  Stanton-Harcourt,  in  Oxfordshire. 


FROM     ALEXANDER     POPE.  153 

aimed  at  was  the  blameless  possession  of  each  other  in  mar- 
riage. It  was  but  this  very  morning  that  he  had  obtained  her 
parents'  consent,  and  it  was  but  till  the  next  week  that  they 
were  to  wait  to  be  happy.  Perhaps  this  very  day,  in  the  in- 
tervals of  their  work,  they  were  talking  of  their  wedding- 
clothes  ;  and  John  was  now  matching  several  kinds  of  pop- 
pies and  field-flowers  to  her  complexion,  to  make  her  a  pres- 
ent of  knots  for  the  day.  While  they  were  thus  employed  (it 
was  on  the  last  of  July),  a  terrible  storm  of  thunder  and 
lightning  arose,  and  drove  the  laborers  to  what  shelter  the 
trees  or  hedges  afforded.  Sarah,  frightened  and  out  of  breath, 
sunk  on  a  hay-cock,  and  John  (who  never  separated  from  her) 
sat  by  her  side,  having  raked  two  or  three  heaps  together  to 
secure  her.  Immediately  there  was  heard  so  loud  a  crack  as 
if  Heaven  had  burst  asunder.  The  laborers,  all  solicitous  for 
each  other's  safety,  called  to  one  another :  those  that  were 
nearest  our  lovers,  hearing  no  answer,  stepped  to  the  place 
where  they  lay.  They  first  saw  a  little  smoke,  and  after,  this 
faithful  pair — John,  with  one  arm  about  his  Sarah's  neck,  and 
the  other  held  over  her  face,  as  if  to  screen  her  from  the 
lightning,  They  were  struck  dead,  and  already  grown  stiff 
and  cold  in  this  tender  posture.  There  was  no  mark  or  dis- 
coloring on  their  bodies,  only  that  Sarah's  eye-brow  was  a  lit- 
tle singed,  and  a  small  spot  between  her  breasts.  They  were 
buried  the  next  day  in  one  grave,  in  the  parish  of  Stanton- 
Harcourt,  in  Oxfordshire,  where  my  Lord  Harcourt,  at  my  re- 
quest, has  erected  a  monument  over  them.  Of  the  following 
epitaphs  which  I  made,  the  critics  have  chosen  the  godly  one. 
I  like  neither,  but  wish  you  had  been  in  England  to  have  done 
this  office  better ;  I  think  't  was  what  you  could  not  have  re- 
fused me  on  so  moving  an  occasion. 

When  Eastern  lovers  feed  the  fun'ral  fire, 
On  the  same  pile  their  faithful  fair  expire ; 
Here  pitying  Heav'n  that  virtue  mutual  found, 
And  blasted  both,  that  it  might  neither  wound. 
Hearts  so  sincere  th'  Almighty  saw  well  pleased, 
Sent  his  own  lightning,  and  the  victims  seized. 


154  LETTERS    TO     AND 


Think  not,  by  rig'rous  judgment  seized, 
A  pair  so  faithful  could  expire  ; 

Victims  so  pure  Heav'n  saw,  well  pleased, 
And  snatched  them  in  celestial  fire. 


n. 

Live  well,  and  fear  no  sudden  fate : 

"When  God  calls  virtue  to  the  grave, 
Alike  'tis  justice,  soon  or  late, 

Mercy  alike  to  kill  or  save. 
Virtue  unmoved  can  hear  the  call, 
And  face  the  flash  that  melts  the  balk 

Upon  the  whole,  I  can't  think  these  people  unhappy.  The 
greatest  happiness,  next  to  living  as  they  would  have  done, 
was  to  die  as  they  did.  The  greatest  honor  people  of  this  low 
degree  could  have  was  to  be  remembered  on  a  little  monu- 
ment ;  unless  you  will  give  them  another — that  of  being  hon- 
ored with  a  tear  from  the  finest  eyes  in  the  world.  I  know 
you  have  tenderness  ;  you  must  have  it ;  it  is  the  very  emana- 
tion of  good  sense  and  virtue ;  the  finest  minds,  like  the  finest 
metals,  dissolve  the  easiest. 

But  when  you  are  reflecting  upon  objects  of  pity,  pray  do 
not  forget  one  who  had  no  sooner  found  out  an  object  of  the 
highest  esteem,  than  he  was  separated  from  it ;  and  who  is 
so  very  unhappy  as  not  to  be  susceptible  of  consolation  from 
others,  by  being  so  miserably  in  the  right  as  to  think  other 
women  what  they  really  are.  Such  a  one  can't  but  be  des- 
perately fond  of  any  creature  that  is  quite  different  from  these. 
If  the  Circassian  be  utterly  void  of  such  honor  as  these  have, 
and  such  virtue  as  these  boast  of,  I  am  content.  I  have  de- 
tested the  sound  of  honest  woman,  and  loving  spouse,  ever 
since  I  heard  the  pretty  name  of  Odaliche. 


FROM     ALEXANDER     POPE.  15ft 


LETTER  X. 

TO     MR.     POPE. 

Dover,  November  1,  0.  S.,  1718. 

I  have  this  minute  received  a  letter  of  yours,  sent  me  from 
Paris.  I  believe  and  hope  I  shall  very  soon  see  both  you  and 
Mr.  Congreve  ;  but  as  I  am  here  in  an  inn,  where  we  stay  to 
regulate  our  march  to  London,  bag  and  baggage,  I  shall  em- 
ploy some  of  my  leisure  time  in  answering  that  part  of  yours 
that  seems  to  require  an  answer. 

I  must  applaud  your  good-nature  in  supposing  that  your 
pastoral  lovers  (vulgarly  called  haymakers)  would  have  lived 
in  everlasting  joy  and  harmony,  if  the  lightning  had  not  inter- 
rupted their  scheme  of  happiness.  I  see  no  reason  to  imagine 
that  John  Hughes  and  Sarah  Drew  were  either  wiser  or  more 
virtuous  than  their  neighbors.  That  a  well-set  man  of  twenty- 
five  should  have  a  fancy  to  marry  a  brown  woman  of  eighteen, 
is  nothing  marvelous  ;  and  I  can  not  help  thinking  that,  had 
they  married,  their  lives  would  have  passed  in  the  common 
track  with  their  fellow-parishioners.  His  endeavoring  to 
shield  her  from  a  storm,  was  a  natural  action,  and  what  he 
would  have  certainly  done  for  his  horse,  if  he  had  been  in  the 
same  situation.  Neither  am  I  of  opinion  that  their  sudden 
death  was  a  reward  of  their  mutual  virtue.  You  know  the 
Jews  were  reproved  for  thinking  a  village  destroyed  by  fire 
more  wicked  than  those  that  had  escaped  the  thunder.  Time 
and  chance  happen  to  all  men.  Since  you  desire  me  to  try 
my  skill  in  an  epitaph,  I  think  the  following  lines  perhaps 
more  just,  though  not  so  poetical  as  yours. 

Here  lie  John  Hughes  and  Sarah  Drew ; 
Perhaps  you  '11  say,  what 's  that  to  you  ? 
Believe  me,  friend,  much  may  be  said 
On  this  poor  couple  that  are  dead. 
On  Sunday  next  they  should  have  married ; 
But  see  how  oddly  things  are  carried  1 


156  LETTERS     TO     AND 

On  Thursday  last  it  rained  and  lighten'd ; 
These  tender  lovers  sadly  frighten'd, 
Shelter'd  beneath  the  cocking  hay, 
In  hopes  to  pass  the  time  away ; 
But  the  bold  thunder  found  them  out 
(Commission'd  for  that  end  no  doubt), 
And,  seizing  on  their  trembling  breath, 
Consign'd  them  to  the  shades  of  death. 
"Who  knows  if 't  was  not  kindly  done  ? 
For  had  they  seen  the  next  year's  sun, 
A  beaten  wife  and  cuckold  swain 
Had  jointly  cursed  the  marriage  chain : 
Now  they  are  happy  in  their  doom, 
For  Pope  has  wrote  upon  their  tomb. 

I  confess,  these  sentiments  are  not  altogether  so  heroic  as 
yours ;  but  I  hope  you  will  forgive  them  in  favor  of  the  two 
last  lines.  You  see  how  much  I  esteem  the  honor  you  have 
done  them,  though  I  am  not  very  impatient  to  have  the  same  5 
and  had  rather  continue  to  be  your  stupid  living  humble  serv- 
ant, than  be  celebrated  by  all  the  pens  in  Europe. 

I  would  write  to  Congreve,  but  suppose  you  will  read  this 
to  him  if  he  inquires  after  me. 


LETTER  XI. 

TO      MR.     POPE. 


September  1,  IT  IT. 
When  I  wrote  to  you  last,  Belgrade  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
Turks ;  but  at  this  present  moment,  it  has  changed  masters, 
and  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Imperialists.  A  janizary,  who,  in 
nine  days,  and  yet  without  any  wings  but  what  a  panic  terror 
seems  to  have  furnished,  arrived  at  Constantinople  from  the 
army  of  the  Turks  before  Belgrade,  brought  Mr.  Wortley  the 
news  of  a  complete  victoiy  obtained  by  the  Imperialists,  com- 
manded by  Prince  Eugene  over  the  Ottoman  troops.  It  is  said 
the  Prince  has  discovered  great  conduct  and  valor  in  this  action, 


ALEXANDER     POPE.  157 

and  I  am  particularly  glad  that  the  voice  of  glory  and  duty 
has  called  him  from  the — (here  several  words  of  the  manuscript 
art  effaced)  Two  days  after  the  battle  the  town  surrendered. 
The  consternation  which  this  defeat  has  occasioned  here,  is 
inexpressible  ;  and  the  Sultan  apprehending  a  revolution  from 
the  resentment  and  indignation  of  the  people,  fomented  by 
certain  leaders,  has  begun  his  precautions,  after  the  goodly 
fashion  of  this  blessed  government,  by  ordering  several  per- 
sons to  be  strangled  who  were  the  objects  of  his  royal  sus- 
picion. He  has  also  ordered  his  treasurer  to  advance  some 
months'  pay  to  the  janizaries,  which  seems  the  less  necessary, 
as  their  conduct  has  been  bad  in  this  campaign,  and  their 
licentious  ferocity  seems  pretty  well  tamed  by  the  public  con- 
tempt. Such  of  them  as  return  in  straggling  and  fugitive 
parties  to  the  metropolis,  have  not  spirit  nor  credit  enough  to 
defend  themselves  from  the  insults  of  the  mob ;  the  very  chil- 
dren taunt  them,  and  the  populace  spit  in  their  faces  as  they 
pass.  They  refused  during  the  battle  to  lend  their  assistance 
to  save  the  baggage  and  the  military  chest,  which,  however, 
were  defended  by  the  bashaws  and  their  retinue,  while  the 
janizaries  and  spahis  were  nobly  employed  in  plundering  their 
own  camp. 

You  see  here  that  I  give  you  a  very  handsome  return  for 
your  obliging  letter.  You  entertain  me  with  a  most  agreeable 
account  of  your  amiable  connections  with  men  of  letters  and 
taste,  and  of  the  delicious  moments  you  pass  in  their  society 
under  the  rural  shade  ;  and  I  exhibit  to  you  in  return,  the 
barbarous  spectacle  of  Turks  and  Germans  cutting  one  an- 
other's throats.  But  what  can  you  expect  from  such  a 
country  as  this,  from  which  the  Muses  have  fled,  from  which 
letters  seem  eternally  banished,  and  in  which  you  see,  in  pri-  \ 
vate  scenes,  nothing  pursued  as  happiness  but  the  refinements 
of  an  indolent  voluptuousness,  and  where  those  who  act  upon 
the  public  theater  live  in  uncertainty,  suspicion,  and  terror  ! 
Here  pleasure,  to  which  I  am  no  enemy,  when  it  is  properly 
seasoned  and  of  a  good  composition,  is  surely  of  the  cloying 


158  LETTERS     TO     AND 

kind.  Veins  of  wit,  elegant  conversation,  easy  commerce,  are 
unknown  among  the  Turks ;  and  yet  they  seem  capable  of  all 
these,  if  the  vile  spirit  of  their  government  did  not  stifle  genius, 
damp  curiosity,  and  suppress  a  hundred  passions,  that  em- 
bellish and  render  life  agreeable.  The  luscious  passion  of 
the  seraglio  is  the  only  one  almost  that  is  gratified  here 
to  the  full,  but  it  is  blended  so  with  the  surly  spirit  of  des- 
potism in  one  of  the  parties,  and  with  the  dejection  and 
anxiety  which  this  spirit  produces  in  the  other,  that  to  one  of 
my  way  of  thinking  it  can  not  appear  otherwise  than  as  a  very 
mixed  kind  of  enjoyment.  The  women  here  are  not,  indeed 
so  closely  confined  as  many  have  related  ;  they  enjoy  a  high 
degree  of  liberty,  even  in  the  bosom, of  servitude,  and  they 
have  methods  of  evasion  and  disguise  that  are  very  favorable 
to  gallantry ;  but  after  all,  they  are  still  under  uneasy  appre- 
hensions of  being  discovered ;  and  a  discovery  exposes  them  to 
the  most  merciless  rage  of  jealousy,  which  is  here  a  monster 
that  can  not  be  satiated  but  with  blood.  The  magnificence  and 
riches  that  reign  in  the  apartments  of  the  ladies  of  fashion  here 
seem  to  be  one  of  their  chief  pleasures,  joined  with  their 
retinue  of  female  slaves,  whose  music,  dancing  and  dress 
amuse  them  highly :  but  there  is  such  an  air  of  form  and  stiff- 
ness amid  this  grandeur,  as  hinders  it  from  pleasing  me  at 
long  run,  however  I  was  dazzled  with  it  at  first  sight.  This 
stiffness  and  formality  of  manners  are  peculiar  to  the  Turkish 
ladies ;  for  the  Grecian  belles  are  of  quite  another  character 
and  complexion;  with  them  pleasure  appears  in  more  engaging 
forms,  and  their  persons,  manners,  conversation,  and  amuse- 
ments, are  very  far  from  being  destitute  of  elegance  and  ease. 

I  received  the  news  of  Mr.  Addison's  being  declared  Secre- 
tary of  State  with  the  less  surprise  in  that  I  know  that  post 
was  almost  offered  to  him  before.  At  that  time  he  declined 
it,  and  I  really  believe  that  he  would  have  done  well  to  have 
declined  it  now.  Such  a  post  as  that,  and  such  a  wife  as  the 
Countess,  do  not  seem  to  be,  in  prudence,  eligible  for  a  man  that 
is  asthmatic,  and  we  may  see  the  day  when  he  will  b&  heartily 


FROM     ALEXANDER     POPE.  159 

glad  to  resign  them  both.  It  is  well  that  he  laid  aside  the 
thoughts  of  the  voluminous  dictionary,  of  which  I  have  heard 
you  or  somebody  else  frequently  make  mention.  But  no 
more  on  that  subject ;  I  would  not  have  said  so  much  were  I 
not  assured  that  this  letter  will  come  safe  and  unopened  to 
hand.  I  long  much  to  tread  upon  English  ground,  that  I  may 
see  you  and  Mr.  Congreve,  who  render  that  ground  classic 
ground  ;  nor  will  you  refuse  our  present  secretary  a  part  of 
that  merit,  whatever  reasons  you  may  have  to  be  dissatisfied 
with  him  in  other  respects.  You  are  the  three  happiest  poets 
I  ever  heard  of;  one  a  Secretary  of  State,  the  other  enjoying 
leisure  with  dignity  in  two  lucrative  employments ;  and  you, 
though  your  religious  profession  is  an  obstacle  to  court  pro- 
motion, and  disqualifies  you  from  filling  civil  employments, 
have  found  the  philosopher's  stone,  since  by  making  the  Iliad 
pass  through  your  poetical  crucible  into  an  English  form, 
without  losing  aught  of  its  original  beauty,  you  have  drawn 
ihe  golden  current  of  Pactolus  to  Twickenham.  I  call  this 
finding" the  philosopher's  stone,  since  you  alone  found  out  the 
secret,  and  nobody  else  has  got  into  it.  Addison  and  Tickell 
tried  it,  but  their  experiments  failed ;  and  they  lost,  if  not 
their  money,  at  least  a  certain  portion  of  their  fame  in  the 
trial — while  you  touched  the  mantle  of  the  divine  bard,  and 
imbibed  his  spirit.  I  hope  we  shall  have  the  Odyssey  soon 
from  your  happy  hand,  and  I  think  I  shall  follow  with  singular 
pleasure  the  traveler  Ulysses,  who  was  an  observer  of  men 
and  manners,  when  he  travels  in  your  harmonious  numbers. 
I  love  him  much  better  than  the  hot-headed  son  of  Peleus, 
who  bullied  his  general,  cried  for  his  mistress,  and  so  on.  It 
is  true,  the  excellence  of  the  Iliad  does  not  depend  upon  his 
merit  or  dignity,  but  I  wish,  nevertheless,  that  Homer  had 
chosen  a  hero  somewhat  less  pettish  and  less  fantastic  :  a  per- 
fect hero  is  chimerical  and  unnatural,  and  consequently  unin- 
structive ;  but  it  is  also  true  that  while  the  epic  hero  ought  to 
be  drawn  with  the  infirmities  that  are  the  lot  of  humanity,  he 
ought  never  to  be  represented  as  extremely  absurd.     But  it 


160  LETTERS     TO     AND 


becomes  me  ill  to  play  the  critic  ;  so  I  take  my  leave  of  you 
for  this  time,  and  desire  you  will  believe  me,  with  the  highest 
esteem,  Yours,  etc. 


LETTER  XLT. 

TO      MR.      POPE. 


1118. 

I  have  been  running  about  Paris  at  a  strange  rate  with 
my  sister,  and  strange  sights  have  we  seen.  They  are,  at  Last, 
strange  sights  to  me,  for  after  having  been  accustomed  to  the 
gravity  of  the  Turks,  I  can  scarcely  look  with  an  easy  and 
familiar  aspect  at  the  levity  and  agility  of  the  airy  phantoms 
that  are  dancing  about  me  here,  and  I  often  think  that  I  am 
at  a  puppet-show  amid  the  representations  of  real  life.  I  stare 
prodigiously,  but  nobody  remarks  it,  for  every  body  stares 
here  ;  staring  is  a  la  mode — there  is  a  stare  of  attention  and 
interet,  a  stare  of  curiosity,  a  stare  of  expectation,  a  stare  of 
surprise,  and  it  would  greatly  amuse  you  to  see  what  trifling 
objects  excite  all  this  staring.  This  staring  would  have  rather 
a  solemn  kind  of  air,  were  it  not  alleviated  by  grinning,  for  at 
the  end  of  a  stare  there  comes  always  a  grin,  and  very  com- 
monly the  entrance  of  a  gentleman  or  a  lady  into  a  room  is 
accompanied  with  a  grin,  which  is  designed  to  express  com- 
placence and  social  pleasure,  but  really  shows  nothing  more 
than  a  certain  contortion  of  muscles  that  must  make  a 
stranger  laugh  really,  as  they  laugh  artificially.  The  French 
grin  is  equally  remote  from  the  cheerful  serenity  of  a  smile, 
and  the  cordial  mirth  of  an  honest  English  horse-laugh.  I 
shall  not  perhaps  stay  here  long  enough  to  form  a  just  idea  of 
French  manners  and  characters,  though  this,  I  believe,  would 
require  but  little  study,  as  there  is  no  real  depth  in  either.  It 
appears  on  a  superficial  view,  to  be  a  frivolous,  restless,  and 
agreeable  people.  The  Abbot  is  my  guide,  and  I  could  not  easily 
light  upon  a  better ;  he  tells  me  that  here  the  women  form 


FROM      ALEXANDER      POPE.  161 

the  character  of  the  men,  and  I  am  convinced  in  the  per- 
suasion of  this  by  every  company  into  which  I  enter.  There 
seems  here  to  be  no  intermediate  state  between  infancy  and 
manhood ;  for  as  soon  as  the  boy  has  cut  his  leading-strings, 
he  is  set  agog  in  the  world ;  the  ladies  are  his  tutors,  they 
make  the  first  impressions,  which  generally  remain,  and  they 
render  the  men  ridiculous  by  the  imitation  of  their  humors 
and  graces,  so  that  dignity  in  manners  is  a  rare  thing  here  be- 
fore the  age  of  sixty.  Does  not  King  David  say  somewhere, 
that  Man  walJceth  in  a  vain  show  $  I  think  he  does,  and  I 
am  sure  this  is  peculiarly  so  of  the  Frenchman — but  he  walks 
merrily  and  seems  to  enjoy  the  vision,  and  may  he  not  there- 
fore be  esteemed  more  happy  than  many  of  our  solid  thinkers, 
whose  brows  are  furrowed  by  deep  reflection,  and  whose  wis- 
dom is  so  often  clothed  with  a  rusty  mantle  of  spleen  and 
vapors  ? 

What  delights  me  most  here  is  a  view  of  the  magnificence, 
often  accompanied  with  taste,  that  reigns  in  the  king's  palaces 
and  gardens  ;  for  though  I  don't  admire  much  the  architect- 
ure, in  which  there  is  great  irregularity  and  want  of  propor- 
tion, yet  the  statues,  paintings,  and  other  decorations  afford 
me  high  entertainment.  One  of  the  pieces  of  antiquity  that 
struck  me  most  in  the  gardens  of  Versailles,  was  the  famous 
colossean  statue  of  Jupiter,  the  workmanship  of  Myron,  which 
Mark  Antony  carried  away  from  Samos,  and  Augustus  or- 
dered to  be  placed  in  the  Capitol.  It  is  of  Parian  marble,  and 
though  it  has  suffered  in  the  ruin  of  time,  it  still  preserves 
striking  lines  of  majesty.  But  surely,  if  marble  could  feel, 
the  god  would  frown  with  a  generous  indignation  to  see  him- 
self transported  from  the  Capitol  into  a  French  garden  ;  and 
after  having  received  the  homage  of  the  Eoman  Emperors, 
who  laid  their  laurels  at  his  feet  when  they  returned  from 
their  conquests,  to  behold  now  nothing  but  the  frizzled  beaus 
passing  by  him  with  indifference. 

I  propose  setting  out  soon  from  this  place,  so  that  you  arc 
to  expect  no  more  letters  from  this  side  of  the  water ;  besides, 


102  LETTERS     TO     ALEXANDER      POPE. 

I  am  hurried  to  death,  and  my  head  swims  with  that  vast 
variety  of  objects  which  I  am  obliged  to  view  with  such  rapid- 
ity, the  shortness  of  my  time  not  allowing  me  to  examine 
them  at  my  leisure.  There  is  here  an  excessive  prodigality  of 
ornaments  and  decorations,  that  is  just  the  opposite  extreme  to 
what  appears  in  our  royal  gardens ;  this  prodigality  is  owing 
to  the  levity  and  inconstancy  of  the  French  taste,  which  al- 
ways pants  after  something  new,  and  thus  heaps  ornament 
upon  ornament  without  end  or  measure.  It  is  time,  however, 
that  I  should  put  an  end  to  my  letter ;  so  I  wish  you  good 
night,  and  am,  etc. 


LETTERS  TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  MAR, 

AT    PARIS. 
FROM    1720    TO    1727. 


LETTER  I. 

Twickenham,  1720. 
I  have  had  no  answer,  dear  sister,  to  a  long  letter  that  I 
wrote  to  you  a  month  ago  ;  however,  I  shall  continue  letting 
you  know,  de  temps  en  temps,  what  passes  in  this  corner  of 
the  world  'till  you  tell  me  'tis  disagreeable.  I  shall  say  little 
of  the  death  of  our  great  minister,  because  the  papers  say  so 
much.*  I  suppose  that  the  same  faithful  historians  give  you 
regular  accounts  of  the  growth  and  spreading  of  the  inocula- 
tion for  the  small  pox,  which  is  become  almost  a  general 
practice,  attended  with  great  success.  I  pass  my  time  in  a 
small  snug  set  of  dear  intimates,  and  go  very  little  into  the 
grand  monde,  which  has  always  had  my  hearty  contempt.  I 
see  sometimes  Mr.  Congreve,  and  very  seldom  Mr.  Pope,  who 
continues  to  embellish  his  house  at  Twickenham.  He  has 
made  a  subterranean  grotto,  which  he  has  furnished  with 
looking-glasses,  and  they  tell  me  it  has  a  very  good  effect.  I 
here  send  you  some  verses  addressed  to  Mr.  Gay,  who  wrote 
him  a  congratulatory  letter  on  the  finishing  his  house.  I  sti- 
fled them  here,  and  I  beg  they  may  die  the  same  death  at 
Paris,  and  never  go  further  than  your  closet : 

*  James  Craggs,  Esq.,  Secretary  of  State,  died  February  15,  1720, 
aged  35. 


164  LETTERS     TO 

1  Ah,  frieixd,  'tis  true — this  truth  you  lovers  know- 
In  vain  my  structures  rise,  my  gardens  grow, 
In  vain  fair  Thames  reflects  the  double  scenes 
Of  hanging  mountains,  and  of  sloping  greens: 
Joy  lives  not  here ;  to  happier  seats  it  flies, 
And  only  dwells  where  Wortley  casts  her  eyes. 

"  What  are  the  gay  parterre,  the  checker'd  shade, 
The  morning  bower,  the  ev'ning  colonnade. 
But  soft  recesses  of  uneasy  minds, 
To  sigh  unheard  in,  to  the  passing  winds  ? 
So  the  struck  deer  in  some  sequester'd  part 
Lies  down  to  die,  the  arrow  at  his  heart ; 
There,  stretch'd  unseen  in  coverts  hid  from  day, 
Bleeds  drop  by  drop,  and  pants  his  life  away."* 

My  paper  is  done,  and  I  beg  you  to  send  my  lutestring  of 
what  color  you  please. 


LETTER  E. 

1722. 
Dear  Sister, — I  am  surprised  at  your  silence,  which  has 
been  very  long,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  very  tedious  to  me,  I 
have  writ  three  times  ;  one  of  my  letters  I  know  you  received 
long  since,  for  Charles  Churchill  told  me  so  at  the  opera.  At 
this  instant  I  am  at  Twickenham  ;  Mr.  Wortley  has  pur- 
chased the  small  habitation  where  you  saw  me.  We  propose 
to  make  some  small  alterations.  That  and  the  education  of 
my  daughter  are  my  chief  amusements.  I  hope  yours  is  well, 
et  ne  fait  que  croitre  et  embellir.  I  beg  you  would  let  me 
hear  soon  from  you ;  and  particularly  if  the  approaching 
coronation  at  Paris  raises  the  price  of  diamonds.  I  have 
some  to  sell,  and  can  not  dispose  of  them  here.  I  am  afraid 
you  have  quite  forgot  my  plain  lutestring,  which  I  am  in 

*  In  Pope's  Works  the  last  eight  lines  only  are  published  as  a  frag- 
ment. After  his  quarrel  with  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  he  dis- 
ingenuously suppressed  the  compliment  conveyed  in  the  preceding. 


THE      COUNTESS      OF      MAR.  165 

great  want  of,  and  I  can  hardly  think  you  miss  of  opportuni- 
ties to  send  it.  At  this  dead  season  'tis  impossible  to  enter- 
tain you  with  news ;  and  yet  more  impossible  (with  my  dull- 
ness) to  entertain  you  without  it.  The  kindest  thing  I  can 
do  is  to  bring  my  letter  to  a  speedy  conclusion.  I  wish  I 
had  some  better  way  of  showing  you  how  sincerely  I  am 
yours.  I  am  sure  I  never  will  slip  any  occasion  of  convincing 
you  of  it. 


LETTER  III. 

Twickenham,  1123. 
I  do  verily  believe,  my  dear  sister,  that  this  is  the  twelfth 
if  not  the  thirteenth  letter  I  have  written  since  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  from  you.  It  is  an  uncomfortable  thing 
to  have  precious  time  spent,  and  one's  wit  neglected  in  this 
manner.  Sometimes  I  think  you  are  fallen  into  that  utter 
indifference  for  all  things  on  this  side  the  water,  that  you 
have  no  more  curiosity  for  the  affairs  of  London  than  for 
those  of  Pekin  ;  and  if  that  be  the  case,  'tis  downright  imper- 
tinence to  trouble  you  with  news.  But  I  can  not  cast  off  the 
affectionate  concern  I  have  for  you,  and  consequently  must  put 
you  in  mind  of  me  whenever  I  have  any  opportunity.  The 
bearer  of  this  epistle  is  our  cousin,*  and  a  consummate  puppy, 
as  you  will  perceive  at  first  sight ;  his  shoulder-knot  last  birth- 
day made  many  a  pretty  gentleman's  heart  ache  with  envy, 
and' his  addresses  have  made  Miss  Howard  the  happiest  of  her 
highness's  honorable  virgins  ;f  besides  the  glory  of  thrusting 
the  Earl  of  Deloraine  from  the  post  he  held  in  her  affections. 
But  his  relations  are  so  ill-bred  as  to  be  quite  insensible  of 
the  honor  arising  from  this  conquest,  and  fearing  that  so 
much  gallantry  may  conclude  in  captivity  for  life,  pack  him 

*  This  cousin  probably  was  Lord  Fielding. 

f  Miss  Howard  was  daughter  of  Colonel  Philip  Howard,  and  was 
married,  in  1726,  to  Henry  Scott  Earl  of  Deloraine,  third  son  of  James 
Duke  of  Monmouth. 


166  LETTERS     TO 

off  to  you,  where  'tis  to  be  hoped  there  is  no  such  killing  fair 
as  Miss  Howard. 


LETTER   IV. 

Catendish  Square,  1723. 
Dear  Sister, — I  have  written  to  you  twice  since  I  received 
yours  in  answer  to  that  I  sent  by  Mr.  De  Caylus,  but  I  believe 
none  of  what  I  send  by  the  post  ever  come  to  your  hands,  uor 
ever  will  while  they  .are  directed  to  Mr.  Waters,  for  reasons 
that  you  may  easily  guess.  I  wish  you  would  give  me  a  safer 
direction  ;  it  is  very  seldom  I  can  have  the  opportunity  of  a 
private  messenger,  and  it  is  very  often  that  I  have  a  mind  to 
write  to  my  dear  sister.  If  you  have  not  heard  of  the  Duchess 
of  Montagu's  intended  journey,  you  will  be  surprised  at  your 
manner  of  receiving  this,  since  I  send  it  by  one  of  her  servants  ; 
she  does  not  design  to  see  any  body  nor  any  thing  in  Paris, 
and  talks  of  going  from  Montpelier  to  Italy.  I  have  a  tender 
esteem  for  her,  and  am  heartily  concerned  to  lose  her  conversa- 
tion, yet  I  can  not  condemn  her  resolution.  I  am  yet  in  this 
wicked  town,  but  propose  to  leave  it  as  soon  as  the  Parliament 
rises.  Mrs.  Murray  and  all  her  satellites  have  so  seldom  fallei 
|  in  my  way,  I  can  say  little  about  them.  Your  old  friend  Mrs. 
Lowther  is  still  fair  and  young,  and  in  pale  pink  every  night  in 
the  parks ;  but,  after  being  highly  in  favor,  poor  I  am  in  utter 
disgrace,  without  my  being  able  to  guess  wherefore,  except 
she  fancied  me  the  author  or  abettor  of  two  vile  ballads  written 
on  her  dying  adventure,  which  I  am  so  innocent  of  that  I  never 
saw  it.*  A  propos  of  ballads,  a  most  delightful  one  is  said  or 
sung  in  mo>t  houses  about  our  dearly-beloved  plot,  which  has 
been  laid  first  to  Pope  and  secondly  to  me,  when  God  knows 
we  have  neither  of  us  wit  enough  to  make  it.  Poets  increase 
and  multiply  to  that  stupendous  degree,  you  see  them  at  every 
turn,  even  in  embroidered  coats  and  pink-colored  top-knots ; 

*  Mrs.  Lowther  was  a  respectable  woman,  single,  and,  as  it  appears  by 
the  text,  not  willing  to  own  herself  middle-aged. 


THE      COUNTESS      OF      MAR.  167 

making  verses  is  become  almost  as  common  as  taking  snuff,  and 
who  can  tell  what  miserable  stuff  people  carry  about  iu  their 
pockets,  and  offer  to  all  their  acquaintances,  and  you  know  one 
can  not  refuse  reading  and  taking  a  pinch.  This  is  a  very  great 
grievance  and  so  particularly  shocking  to  me,  that  I  think  our 
wise  lawgivers  should  take  it  into  consideration,  and  appoint  a 
fast-day  to  beseech  Heaven  to  put  a  stop  to  this  epidemical  dis- 
ease, as  they  did  last  year  for  the  plague  with  great  success. 

Dear  sister,  adieu.  I  have  been  very  free  in  this  letter,  be- 
cause I  think  I  am  sure  of  its  going  safe.  I  wish  my  night-gown 
may  do  the  same :  I  only  choose  that  as  most  convenient  to 
you  ;  but  if  it  was  equally  so,  I  had  rather  the  money  was  laid 
out  in  plain  lutestring,  if  you  could  send  me  eight  yards  at  a 
time  of  different  colors,  designing  it  for  linings  ;  but  if  this 
scheme  is  impracticable,  send  me  a  night-gown  a  la  mode. 


LETTER  V. 

Twickenham,  Oct.  20, 1723. 
I  am  heartily  sorry  to  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  from  you 
lessened  by  your  complaints  of  uneasiness,  which  I  wish  with 
all  my  soul  I  was  capable  of  relieving,  either  by  my  letters  or 
any  other  way.  My  life  passes  in  a  kind  of  indolence  which  is 
now  and  then  awakened  by  agreeable  moments  ;  but  pleasures 
are  transitory,  and  the  ground  work  of  every  thing  in  England 
stupidity,  which  is  certainly  owing  to  the  coldness  of  this  vile 
climate.  I  envy  you  the  serene  air  of  Paris,  as  well  as  many 
other  conveniences  there :  what  between  the  things  one  can 
not  do,  and  the  things  one  must  not  do,  the  time  but  dully 
lingers  on,  though  1  make  as  good  a  shift  as  many  of  my 
neighbors.  To  my  great  grief,  some  of  my  best  friends  have 
been  extremely  ill ;  and,  in  general,  death  and  sickness  have 
never  been  more  frequent  than  now.  You  may  imagine  poor 
gallantry  droops  ;  and,  except  in  the  elysian  shades  of  Rich- 
mond, there  is  no  such  thing  as  We  or  pleasure.     It  is  said 


168  LETTERS      TO 

there  is  a  fair  lady  retired  for  having  taken  too  much  of  it : 
for  my  part  they  are  not  at  all  cooked  to  my  taste  ;  and  I 
have  very  little  share  in  the  diversions  there,  which,  except 
seasoned  with  wit,  or  at  least  vivacity,  will  not  go  down  with 
me  who  have  not  altogether  so  voracious  an  appetite  as  1  once 
had  :  I  intend,  however,  to  shine  and  be  fine  on  the  birth- 
night,  and  review  the  figures  there. 

I  desire  you  would  say  something  very  pretty  to  your 
daughter  in  my  name  ;  notwithstanding  the  great  gulf  that  is 
[at  present  between  us,  I  hope  to  wait  on  her  to  an  opera  one 
time  or  other.  I  suppose  you  know  our  uncle  Fielding  *  is 
dead.     I  regret  him  prodigiously. 


LETTER  VI. 

Oct.  31,  1723. 
I  write  to  you  at  this  time  piping  hot  from  the  birth -night ; 
my  brain  warmed  with  all  the  agreeable  ideas  that  fine  clothes, 
fine  gentlemen,  brisk  tunes,  and  lively  dances,  can  raise  there. 
It  is  to  be  hoped  that  my  letter  will  entertain  you :  at  least  you 
will  certainly  have  the  freshest  account  of  all  passages  on  that 
glorious  day.  First  you  must  know  that  I  led  up  the  balls 
which  you'll  stare  at ;  but  wrhat  is  more,  I  believe  in  my  con- 
science I  made  one  of  the  best  figures  there  ;  to  say  truth,  people 
are  grown  so  extravagantly  ugly  that  we  old  beauties  are 
forced  to  come  out  on  show-days,  to  keep  the  court  in  counte- 
nance. I  saw  Mrs.  Murray  there,  through  whose  hands  this 
epistle  will  be  conveyed  ;  I  do  not  know  whether  she  will  make 
the  same  complaint  to  you  that  I  do.  Mrs.  West  was  with 
her,  who  is  a  great  prude,  having  but  two  lovers  at  a  time ;  I 
think  those  are  Lord  Haddington  and  Mr.  Lindsay ;  the  one 
for  use,  the  other  for  show. 

*  William  Fielding,  Esq.,  second  son  of  William,  Earl  of  Denbigh,  Gen- 
tleman of  the  Bed-chamber  and  Deputy-Comptroller  of  the  Household,  died 
in  September,  1723. 


THE      COUNTESS      OF      MAR.  169 

The  world  improves  in  one  virtue  to  a  violent  degree,  I  mean 
plain-dealing.  Hypocrisy  being,  as  the  Scripture  declares,  a 
damnable  sin,  I  hope  our  publicans  and  sinners  will  be  saved 
by  the  open  profession  of  the  contrary  virtue.  I  was  told  by 
a  very  good  author,  who  is  deep  in  the  secret,  that  at  this  very 
minute,  there  is  a  bill  cooping  up  at  a  hunting-seat  in  Nor- 
folk* to  have  not  taken  out  of  the  commandments  and 
clapped  into  the  creed,  the  ensuing  session  of  Parliament.  This 
bold  attempt  for  the  liberty  of  the  subject  is  wholly  projected 
by  Mr.  Walpole,  who  proposed  it  to  the  secret  committee  in 
his  parlor.  William  Young  f  seconded  it,  and  answered  for 
all  his  acquaintance  voting  right  to  a  man :  Doddington  j  very 
gravely  objected  that  the  obstinacy  of  human  nature  was  such 
that  he  feared  when  they  had  positive  commandments  to  do  so, 
perhaps  people  would  not  commit  adultery  and  bear  false  wit- 
ness against  their  neighbors  with  the  readiness  and  cheerful- 
ness they  do  at  present.  This  objection  seemed  to  sink  deep 
into  the  minds  of  the  greatest  politicians  at  the  board,  and  I 
don't  know  whether  the  bill  won't  be  dropped,  though  it  is 
certain  it  might  be  carried  on  with  great  ease,  the  world  being 
entirely  " revenue  du  bagatelle"  and  honor,  virtue,  reputation, 
etc.  which  we  used  to  hear  of  in  our  nursery,  is  as  much  laid 
aside  and  forgotten  as  crumpled  ribbons. 


LETTER  VII. 

Cavendish  Square,  1724. 
Dear  Sister — I  can  not  positively  fix  a  time  for  my  waiting 
on  you  at  Paris ;  but  I  do  verily  believe  I  shall  make  a  trip 
thither,  sooner  or  later.  This  town  improves  in  gayety  every 
day ;  the  young  people  are  younger  than  they  used  to  be,  and 
all  the  old  are  growing  young.     Nothing  is  talked  of  but  en- 

*  Houghton ;  Mr.  (afterward  Sir  Robert)  Walpole's,  then  prime-minister, 
t  Sir  William  Young. 

X  George  Bubb    Doddington,  afterward    Lord    Melcomb-Regn,  whose 
Diary  has  been  published. 


170  LETTERS      TO 

tsrtainments  of  gallantry  by  land  and  water,  and  we  insensibly 
begin  to  taste  all  the  joys  of  arbitrary  power.  Politics  are  no 
more  ;  nobody  pretends  to  wince  or  kick  under  their  burdens ; 
but  we  go  on  cheerfully  with  our  bells  at  our  ears,  ornamented 
with  ribbons,  and  highly  contented  with  our  present  condition. 
So  much  for  the  general  state  of  the  nation.  The  last  pleas- 
ure that  fell  in  my  way  was  Madame  Sevigne's  Letters ;  very 
pretty  they  are,  but  I  assert,  without  the  least  vanity,  that  mine 
will  be  full  as  entertaining  forty  years  hence.  I  advise  you$ 
therefore,  to  put  none  of  them  to  the  use  of  waste  paper. 
You  say  nothing  to  me  of  the  change  of  your  ministry ;  I 
thank  you  for  your  silence  upon  that  subject ;  I  don't  remem- 
ber myself  ever  child  enough  to  be  concerned  who  reigned  ir 
any  part  of  the  earth. 


LETTER  VIH. 

Twickenham,  Jan.  1726. 
Dear  Sister — Having  a  few  momentary  spirits,  I  take  pen 
in  hand,  though  'tis  impossible  to  have  tenderness  for  you, 
without  having  the  spleen  upon  reading  your  letter,  which  will, 
I  hope,  be  received  as  a  lawful  excuse  for  the  dullness  of  the 
following  lines ;  and  I  plead  (as  I  believe  I  have  on  different 
occasions),  that  I  should  please  you  better  if  I  loved  you  less. 
My  Lord  Carleton*  has  left  this  transitory  world,  and  disposed 

of  his  estate  as  he  did  of  his  time,  between  Lady  C f  and 

the  Duchess  of  Q y.J      Jewels  to  a  great  value  he  has 

given,  as  he  did  his  affections,  first  to  the  mother  and  then  to 
the  daughter.  He  was  taken  ill  in  my  company  at  a  concert 
at  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough's,  and  died  two  days  after, 
holding  the  fair  Duchess  by  the  hand,  and  being  fed  at  the 

*  Henry  Boyle,  fifth  son  of  Richard  Earl  of  Orrery,  was  Secretary 
of  State  to  Queen  Anne.  Created  Baron  Carlton  in  IT  14,  and  died  in 
1725. 

\  ClarendoD.  f  Queensberry. 


THE      COUNTESS      OF      MAR.  171 

same  time  with  a  fine  fat  chicken ;  thus  dying  as  he  had  lived, 
indulging  his  pleasures.  Your  friend  Lady  A.  Bate  man  (every 
body  being  acquainted  with  her  affair)  is  grown  discreet ;  and 
nobody  talks  of  it  now  but  his  family,  who  are  violently 
piqued  at  his  refusing  a  great  fortune.  Lady  Gainsborough* 
has  stolen  poor  Lord  Shaftesbury,  aged  fourteen,  and  chained 
him  for  life  to  her  daughter,  upon  pretence  of  having  been  in 
love  with  her  several  years.  But  Lady  Herveyf  makes  the 
top  figure  in  town,  and  is  so  good  as  to  show  twice  a  week  at 
the  drawing-room,  and  twice  more  at  the  opera,  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  public.  As  for  myself,  having  nothing  to 
say,  I  say  nothing.  I  insensibly  dwindle  into  a  spectatress, 
and  lead  a  kind  of — as  it  were.  I  wish  you  here  every  day  ; 
and  see,  in  the  mean  time,  Lady  Stafford  and  the  Duchess  of 
Montagu  and  Miss  Skerret,  and  really  speak  to  almost  nobody 
else,  though  I  walk  about  every  where.  Adieu,  dear  sister  ; 
if  my  letters  could  be  any  consolation  to  you,  I  should  think 
my  time  best  spent  in  writing. 

When  you  buy  the  trifles  that  I  desired  of  you,  I  fancy  Mr. 
Walpole  will  be  so  good  as  to  give  you  opportunity  of  send- 
ing them  without  trouble,  if  you  make  it  your  request  and 
tell  him  they  are  for  me. 


LETTER  IX. 

1726 
I  received  yours,  dear  sister,  this  minute,  and  am  very  sorry 
both  for  your  past  illness  and  affliction  ;  though,  au  bout  du 
compte,  I  don't  know  why  filial  piety  should  exceed  fatherly 

*  Lady  Gainsborough  was  Lady  Dorothy  Manners,  second  daughter 
of  John  first  Duke  of  Rutland.  Her  daughter,  Lady  Susanna,  was  the 
first  wife  of  Anthony  fourth  Earl  of  Shaftesbury.  This  marriage  took 
place  in  1725. 

f  Mary,  Daughter  of  Brigadier-general  Nicholas  Le  Pel,  formerly 
Maid  of  Honor  to  the  Princess  of  Wales,  and  Mistress  of  the  Robes  to 
her  Majesty  Queen  Caroline.     Married  Oct.  25,  1720. 


172  LETTERS      TO 

fondness.  So  much  by  way  of  consolation.  As  to  the  manage- 
ment at  the  time — I  do  verily  believe,  if  my  good  aunt  and 
sister  had  been  less  fools,  and  my  dear  mother-in-law  less  mer- 
cenary, things  might  have  had  a  turn  more  to  your  advantage 
and  mine  too  ;  when  we  meet,  I  will  tell  you  many  circum- 
stances which  would  be  tedious  in  a  letter.  I  could  not  get 
my  sister  Gower  to  join  to  act  with  me,  and  mamma  and  I 
were  in  an  actual  scold  when  my  poor  father  expired  ;  she  has 
shown  a  hardness  of  heart  upon  this  occasion  that  would  ap- 
pear incredible  to  any  body  not  capable  of  it  themselves. 
The  addition  to  her  jointure  is,  one  way  or  other,  £2000  per 
annum ;  so  her  good  grace  remains  a  passable  rich  widow, 
and  is  already  presented  by  the  town  with  a  variety  of  young 
husbands ;  but  I  believe  her  constitution  is  not  good  enough 
to  let  her  amorous  inclinations  get  the  better  of  her  covetous. 
*******  *** 

All  I  had  to  say  to  you  was  that  my  father  expressed  a 
great  deal  of  kindness  to  me  at  last,  and  even  a  desire  of  talk- 
ing with  me,  which  my  lady  duchess  would  not  permit ;  nor 
my  aunt  and  sister  show  any  thing  but  a  servile  complaisance 
to  her.  This  is  the  abstract  of  what  you  desire  to  know,  and 
is  now  quite  useless. 


LETTER  X. 

Cavendish  Square,  1126. 
I  am  very  sorry  for  your  ill  health,  dear  sister,  but  hope  it  is 
so  entirely  past,  that  you  have  by  this  time  forgot  it.  I  never 
was  better  in  my  life,  nor  ever  passed  my  hours  more  agreeably ; 
I  ride  between  London  and  Twickenham  perpetually,  and 
have  little  societies  quite  to  my  taste,  and  that  is  saying  every 
thing.  I  leave  the  great  world  to  girls  that  know  no  better, 
and  do  not  think  one  bit  the  worse  of  myself  for  having  out- 
Jved  a  certain  giddiness,  which  is  sometimes  excusable,  but 
never  pleasing.      Depend  upon  it,  'tis  only  the  spleen  that 


THE      COUNTESS      OF      MAR.  173 

gives  you  those  ideas  ;  you  may  have  many  delightful  days  to 
come,  and  there  is  nothing  more  silly  than  to  be  too  wise  to 
be  happy : 

If  to  be  sad  is  to  be  wise, 
I  do  most  heartily  despise 
"Whatever  Socrates  has  said, 
Or  Tully  writ,  or  Montaigne  read. 

So  much  for  philosophy.  What  do  you  say  to  Pelham's 
marriage  ?*  There 's  flame  !  There  's  constancy  !  If  I  could 
not  employ  my  time  better,  I  would  write  the  history  of  their 
loves  in  twelve  tomes :  Lord  Hervey  should  die  in  her  arms 
like  the  poor  King  of  Assyria,  she  should  be  sometimes  carried 
off  by  troops  of  Masques,  and  at  other  times  blocked  up  in 
the  strong  castles  of  the  Bagnio ;  but  her  honor  should  al- 
ways remain  inviolate  by  the  strength  of  her  own  virtue,  and 
the  friendship  of  the  enchantress  Mrs.  Murray,  till  her  happy 
nuptials  with  her  faithful  Cyrus ;  'tis  a  thousand  pities  I  have 
not  time  for  these  vivacities.  Here  is  a  book  come  outf  that 
all  our  people  of  taste  run  mad  about ;  'tis  no  less  than  the 
united  work  of  a  dignified  clergyman,  an  eminent  physician, 
and  the  first  poet  of  the  age  ;£  and  very  wonderful  it  is ! — 
great  eloquence  have  they  employed  to  prove  themselves 
beasts,  and  show  such  a  veneration  for  horses,  that  since  the 
Essex  Quaker,  nobody  has  appeared  so  passionately  devoted  to 
that  species ;  and  to  say  truth,  they  talk  of  a  stable  with  so 
much  warmth  and  affection  I  can  not  help  suspecting  some 
very  powerful  motive  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

*  Henry  Pelham,  only  brother  to  his  grace  the  Duke  of  Newcastle, 
was  married  Oct.  17,  1726,  to  Lady  Catherine,  eldest  daughter  of  John 
second  Duke  of  Rutland,  by  Catherine  second  daughter  of  William 
L  3rd  Russell,  and  sister  to  "Wriothesly  Duke  of  Bedford. 

f  The  Travels  of  Captain  Lemuel  Gulliver. 

X  Swift,  Arbuthnot,  and  Pope. 


174  LETTERS      TO 

LETTER  XL 

Cavendish  Square,  1727. 
This  is  a  vile  world,  dear  sister,  and  I  can  easily  compre- 
hend, that  whether  one  is  at  Paris  or  London,  one  is  stifled 
with  a  certain  mixture  of  fool  and  knave,  that  most  people 
are  composed  of.  I  would  have  patience  with  a  parcel  of 
polite  rogues,  or  your  downright  honest  fools ;  but  father  Adam 
shines  through  his  whole  progeny.  So  much  for  our  inside 
— then  our  outward  is  so  liable  to  ugliness  and  distempers 
that  we  are  perpetually  plagued  with  feeling  our  own  decays 
and  seeing  those  of  other  people.  Yet,  sixpennyworth  of 
common  sense  divided  among  a  whole  nation,  would  make 
our  lives  roll  away  glibly  enough ;  but  then  we  make  laws, 
and  we  follow  customs.  By  the  first  we  cut  off  our  own  pleas- 
ures, and  by  the  second  we  are  answerable  for  the  faults  and 
extravagances  of  others.  All  these  things,  and  five  hundred 
more,  convince  me  (as  I  have  the  most  profound  veneration 
for  the  Author  of  nature)  that  we  are  here  in  an  actual  state 
of  punishment ;  I  am  satisfied  I  have  been  one  of  the  con- 
demned ever  since  I  was  born ;  and  in  submission  to  the 
divine  justice  I  don't  at  all  doubt  but  I  deserved  it  in  some 
pre-existent  state.  I  will  still  hope  that  I  am  only  in  purga- 
tory ;  and  that  after  whining -and  grunting  a  certain  number 
of  years,  I  shall  be  translated  to  some  more  happy  sphere, 
where  virtue  will  be  natural,  and  custom  reasonable ;  that  is, 
in  short,  where  common  sense  will  reign.  I  grow  very  devout, 
as  you  see,  and  place  all  my  hopes  in  the  next  life,  being 
totally  persuaded  of  the  nothingness  of  this.  Don't  you  re- 
member how  miserable  we  were  in  the  little  parlor  at  Thoresby  ? 
we  then  thought  marrying  would  put  us  at  once  into  posses- 
sion of  all  we  wanted.  Then  came  beins:  with  child,  etc.,  and 
you  see  what  comes  of  being  with  child.  Though,  after  all,  I 
am  still  of  opinion  that  it  is  extremely  silly  to  submit  to  ill 
fortune.  One  should  pluck  a  spirit,  and  live  upon  cordials 
when  one  can  have  no  other  nourishment.     These  are  my 

8* 


THE      COUNTESS      OF      MAR.  175 

present  endeavors,  and  I  run  about,  though  I  have  five  thou- 
sand pins  and  needles  running  into  my  heart.  I  try  to  con- 
sole myself  with  a  small  damsel,*  who  is  at  present  every  thing 
I  like — but,  alas  !  she  is  yet  in  a  white  frock.  At  fourteen, 
she  may  run  away  with  the  butler :  there  's  one  of  the  blessed 
consequences  of  great  disappointments ;  you  are  not  only  hurt 
by  the  thing  present,  but  it  cuts  off  all  future  hopes,  and 
makes  your  very  expectations  melancholy.     Quelle  vie  !  !  ! 


LETTER  XII. 

Cavendish  Square,  1727. 
I  can  not  deny  but  that  I  was  very  well  diverted  on  the 
coronation  day.  I  saw  the  procession  much  at  my  ease,  in  a 
house  which  I  filled  with  my  own  company,  and  then  got  into 
Westminster  Hall  without  trouble,  where  it  was  very  enter- 
taining to  observe  the  variety  of  airs  that  all  meant  the  same 
thing.  The  business  of  every  walker  there  was  to  conceal 
vanity  and  gain  admiration.  For  these  purposes  some  lan- 
guished and  others  strutted ;  but  a  visible  satisfaction  was 
diffused  over  every  countenance,  as  soon  as  the  coronet  was 
clapped  on  the  head.  But  she  that  drew  the  greatest  number 
of  eyes,  was  indisputably  Lady  Orkney.f  She  exposed  behind 
a  mixture  of  fat  and  wrinkles ;  and  before,  a  very  considerable 
protuberance  which  preceded  her.  Add  to  this,  the  inimitable 
roll  of  her  eyes,  and  her  gray  hairs  which  by  good  fortune 
stood  directly  upright,  and  'tis  impossible  to  imagine  a  more 
delightful  spectacle.  She  had  embellished  all  this  with  con- 
siderable magnificence,  which  made  her  look  as  big  again  as 

*  Her  daughter,  afterward  Countess  of  Bute. 

\  Lady  Orkney,  whom  Swift  calls  the  wisest  woman  he  ever  knew, 
must  have  been  pretty  old  at  the  time  of  George  the  Second's  corona- 
tion, since,  in  spite  of  her  ugliness,  also  commemorated  by  Swift,  she 
Was  King  William's  declared  mistress  after  the  death  of  Queen  Mary. 
Mrs.  Villiers  originally,  she  married  Lord  Orkney,  one  of  the  sons  of  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Hamilton. 


176  LETTERS      TO 

usual;  and  I  should  have  thought  her  one  of  the  largest 
things  of  God's  making  if  my  Lady  St.  J n*  had  not  dis- 
played all  her  charms  in  honor  of  the  day.  The  poor  Duchess 
of  M sef  crept  along  with  a  dozen  of  black  snakes  play- 
ing round  her  face,  and  my  Lady  P J  and  (who  is  fallen 

I  away  since  her  dismission  from  court)  represented  very  finely 
an  Egyptian  mummy  embroidered  over  with  hieroglyphics. 
In  general,  I  could  not  perceive  but  that  the  old  were  as  well 
pleased  as  the  young ;  and  I,  who  dread  growing  wise  more 
than  any  thing  in  the  world,  was  overjoyed  to  find  that  one 
can  never  outlive  one's  vanity.  I  have  never  received  the 
long  letter  you  talk  of,  and  am  afraid  that  you  have  only 
fancied  that  you  wrote  it.     Adieu,  dear  sister. 


LETTER  Xin. 


Cavendish  Square,  1727. 

My  Lady  Stafford  §  set  out  toward  France  this  morning,  and 
has  carried  half  the  pleasures  of  my  life  along  with  her ;  I  am 

*  St.  John.  f  Montrose. 

\  Portland,  a  Temple  by  birth,  widow  of  Lord  Berkeley  of  Stratton, 
and  secondly  of  Earl  of  Portland.  She  was  his  second  wife,  and  had 
by  him  two  sons,  who  settled  in  Holland,  and  from  whom  descends  the 
Dutch  branch  of  the  Bentincks.  George  I.  appointed  her  governess  of 
his  grandchildren,  when  he  took  them  away  from  their  parent,  upon 
coming  to  an  open  breach  with  his  son.  The  prince  and  princess  one 
day  going  to  visit  them,  and  the  latter  desiring  to  see  her  daughter ; 
Lady  Portland,  with  many  expressions  of  respect,  lamented  that  she 
could  not  permit  it,  having  his  Majesty's  strict  orders  to  the  contrary. 
Upon  this,  the  prince  flew  into  such  a  rage  that  he  would  literally 
and  truly  have  actually  kicked  her  out  of  the  room,  if  the  princess 
had  not  thrown  herself  between  them.  Of  course  he  made  haste  to 
dismiss  her  as  soon  as  he  came  to  the  crown. 

§  Claude  Charlotte,  daughter  of  Philibert,  Count  of  Grammont,  (au- 
thor of  the  celebrated  Memoirs),  and  "La  Belle  Hamilton,"  eldest 
daughter  of  Sir  George  Hamilton,  Bart.,  was  married  to  Henry  Stafford 
Howard,  Earl  of  Staflord,  at  St.  Germain-en-Laye,  1694. 


THE      COUNTESS      OF      MAR.  177 

more  stupid  than  I  can  describe,  and  am  as  full  of  moral  re- 
flections as  either  Cambray  or  Pascal.  I  think  of  nothing  but 
the  nothingness  of  the  good  things  of  this  world,  the  transito- 
riness  of  its  joys,  the  pungency  of  its  sorrows,  and  many  dis- 
coveries that  have  been  made  these  three  thousand  years,  and 
committed  to  print  ever  since  the  first  erecting  of  presses.  I 
advise  you,  as  the  best  thing  you  can  do  that  day,  let  it  hap- 
pen as  it  will,  to  visit  Lady  Stafford  ;  she  has  the  goodness  to 
carry  with  her  a  true-born  Englishwoman,  who  is  neither  good 
nor  bad,  nor  capable  of  being  either ;  Lady  Phil.  Pratt  by 
name,  of  the  Hamilton  family,  and  who  will  be  glad  of  your 
acquaintance,  and  you  can  never  be  sorry  for  hers  * 

Peace  or  war,  cross  or  pile,  makes  all  the  conversation ;  this 
town  never  was  fuller,  and,  God  be  praised,  some  people  brille 
in  it  who  brilled  twenty  years  ago.  My  cousin  Buller  is  of 
that  number,  who  is  just  what  she  was  in  all  respects  when 
she  inhabited  Bond-street.  The  sprouts  of  this  age  are  such 
green  withered  things,  'tis  a  great  comfort  to  us  grown  up 
people  ;  I  except  my  own  daughter,  who  is  to  be  the  ornament 
of  the  ensuing  court.  I  beg  you  will  exact  from  Lady  Staf- 
ford a  particular  of  her  perfections,  which  would  sound  sus- 
pected from  my  hand  ;  at  the  same  time  I  must  do  justice  to 
a  little  twig  belonging  to  my  sister  Gower.  Miss  Jenny  is 
like  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry  both  in  face  and  spirit.  A 
propos  of  family  affairs :  I  had  almost  forgot  our  dear  and 
amiable  cousin  Lady  Denbigh,  who  has  blazed  out  all  this 
winter ;  she  has  brought  with  her  from  Paris  cart-loads  of 
ribbon,  surprising  fashion,  and  of  a  complexion  of  the  last 
edition,  which  naturally  attracts  all  the  she  and  he  fools 
in  London ;  and  accordingly  she  is  surrounded  with  a  little 
court  of  both,  and  keeps  a  Sunday  assembly  to  show  she  has 
learned  to  play  at  cards  on  that  day.    Lady  Frances  Fieldingf 

f  Lady  Philippa  Hamilton,  daughter  of  James  Earl  of  Abercora,  and 
wife  of  Dr.  Pratt,  Dean  of  Downe. 

*  Youngest  daughter  of  Basil  fourth  Earl  of  Denbigh ;  married  to 
Daniel  seventh  Earl  of  Winchelsea;  died  Sept.  17,  1734. 


178  LETTERS      TO 

is  really  the  prettiest  woman  in  town,  and  has  sense  enough 
to  make  one's  heart  ache  to  see  her  surrounded  with  such  fools 
as  her  relations  are.  The  man  in  England  that  gives  the  great- 
est pleasure,  and  the  greatest  pain,  is  a  youth  of  royal  blood, 
with  all  his  grandmother's  beauty,  wit,  and  good  qualities.  In 
short,  he  is  Nell  Gwyn  in  person,  with  the  sex  altered,  and 
occasions  such  fracas  among  the  ladies  of  gallantry  that  it 
passes  description.  You'll  stare  to  hear  of  her  Grace  of 
Cleveland  at  the  head  of  them.*  If  I  was  poetical  I  would 
tell  you — 

The  god  of  love,  enraged  to  see 

The  nymph  despiss  his  flame, 
At  dice  and  cards  misspend  her  nights, 

And  slight  a  nobler  game ; 

For  the  neglect  of  offers  past 

And  pride  in  days  of  yore, 
He  kindles  up  a  fire  at  last, 

That  burns  her  at  threescore. 

A  polish'd  wile  is  smoothly  spread 

"Where  whilome  wrinkles  lay ; 
And  glowing  with  an  artful  red, 

She  ogles  at  the  play. 

Along  the  Mall  she  softly  sails, 

In  white  and  silver  drcst ; 
Her  neck  exposed  to  Eastern  gales, 

And  jewels  on  her  breast. 

Her  children  banish'd,  age  forgot, 

Lord  Sidney  is  her  care  ; 
And,  what  is  much  a  happier  lot, 

Has  hopes  to  be  her  heir. 

This  is  all  true  history,  though  it  is  doggrel  rhyme  ;  in  good 
earnest  she  has  turned  Lady  D f  and  family  out  of  doors 

*  Anne,  daughter  of  Sir  "W.  Pulteney  of  Misterton,  in  the  county  of 
Stafford;  remarried  to  Philip  Southcote,  Esq.     Died  in  1746. 

f  Lady  Grace  Fitzroy,  third  daughter  of  Charles  Duke  of  Cleveland; 
married  in  1725,  to  Henry  first  Earl  of  Darlington. 


THE      COUNTESS      OF      MAR.  179 

to  make  room  for  him,  and  there  he  lies  like  leaf-gold  upon  a 
pill ;  there  never  was  so  violent  and  so  indiscreet  a  passion. 
Lady  Stafford  says  nothing  was  ever  like  it,  since  Phaedra  and 
Hippolytus.  "  Lord  ha'  mercy '  upon  us.  See  what  we  may 
all  come  to  1" 


LETTER  XIV. 

No  datf . 

I  am  always  pleased  to  hear  from  you,  dear  sister,  particu- 
larly when  you  tell  me  you  are  well.  I  believe  you  will  find 
upon  the  whole  my  sense  is  right ;  that  air,  exercise,  and  com- 
pany are  the  best  medicines,  and  physic  and  retirement  good 
for  nothing  but  to  break  hearts  and  spoil  constitutions.  I  was 
glad  to  hear  Mr.  Remond's  history  from  you,  though  the  news- 
papers had  given  it  me  en  gros,  and  my  Lady  Stafford  in  de- 
tail, some  time  before.  I  will  tell  you  in  return  as  well  as  I 
can  what  happens  among  our  acquaintances  here.  To  begin 
with  family  affairs ;  the  Duchess  of  Kingston  grunts  on  as 
usual,  and  I  fear  will  put  us  in  black  bombazine  soon,  which 
is  a  real  grief  to  me.  My  aunt  Cheyne  makes  all  the  money 
she  can  of  Lady  Frances,  and  I  fear  will  carry  on  those  politics 
to  the  last  point,  though  the  girl  is  such  a  fool  'tis  no  great 
matter ;  I  am  going  within  this  half-hour  to  call  her  to  court. 
Our  poor  cousins,  the  Fieldings,  are  grown  yet  poorer  by  the 
loss  of  all  the  money  they  had,  which  in  their  infinite  wisdom 
they  put  into  the  hands  of  a  roguish  broker,  who  has  fairly 
walked  off  with  it. 


180-184  LETTERS   TO   THE  COUNTESS   OP  MAR. 


LETTER  XV. 

1727. 
My  cousin  is  going  to  Paris,  and  I  will  not  let  her  go 
without  a  letter  for  you,  my  dear  sister,  though  I  never  was 
in  a  worse  humor  for  writing.  I  am  vexed  to  the  blood  by 
my  young  rogue  of  a  son,  who  has  contrived  at  his  age  to 
make  himself  the  talk  of  the  whole  nation.  He  has  gone 
knight-erranting,  God  knows  where ;  and  hitherto  'tis  impos- 
sible to  find  him.  You  may  judge  of  my  uneasiness  by  what 
your  own  would  be  if  dear  Lady  Fanny  was  lost.  Nothing 
that  ever  happened  to  me  has  troubled  me  so  much ;  I  can 
hardly  speak  or  write  of  it  with  tolerable  temper,  and  I  own 
it  has  changed  mine  to  that  degree  I  have  a  mind  to  cross  the 
water,  to  try  what  effect  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  will 
have  upon  my  spirit.  If  I  take  this  resolution,  you  shall  hear 
in  a  few  posts.  There  can  be  no  situation  in  life  in  which 
the  conversation  of  my  dear  sister  will  not  administer  some 
comfort  to  me. 


LETTERS 


LADY    MARY   TO   MR.   WORTLEY, 


DURING   HER   8ECOND   RESIDENCE   ABROAD. 


FROM  1739  TO  1761. 


LETTERS  FROM  LADY  MARY  TO  MR.  WORTLEY.* 

DURING-   HER   SECOND   RESIDENCE   ABROAD. 
FROM     1739     TO      176  1. 


LETTER  I. 

Calais,  July  27,  1739. 
I  am  safely  arrived  at  Calais,  and  found  myself  better  on 
shipboard  than  1  have  been  these  six  months ;  not  in  the  least 
sick,  though  we  had  a  very  high  sea,  as  you  may  imagine, 
since  we  came  over  in  two  hours  and  three-quarters.  My 
servants  behaved  very  well ;  and  Mary  not  in  the  least  afraid, 
but  said  she  would  be  drowned  very  willingly  with  my  lady- 
ship. They  ask  me  here  extravagant  prices  for  chaises,  of 
which  there  are  great  choice,  both  French  and  Italian :  I  have 
at  last  bought  one  for  fourteen  guineas,  of  a  man  whom  Mr. 
Hall  recommended  to  me.  My  things  have  been  examined 
and  sealed  at  the  Custom-house  :  they  took  from  me  a  pound 
of  snuff,  but  did  not  open  my*jewel  boxes,  which  they  let  pass 

*  These  letters  to  her  husband  show  Lady  Mary's  wifely  character 
in  a  very  agreeable  light.  That  she  had  a  warm  esteem  for  his  virtues 
and  reverenced  his  character,  is  evident  in  her  letters  to  her  daughter 
as  well  as  in  this  correspondence.  Nor  does  it  appear  there  was  any 
estrangement  between  Mr.  "Wortley  and  herself,  which  caused  her  to 
go  abroad.  Her  letters  prove  her  regard  for  him,  and  all  she  writes 
indicate  her  confidence  in  his  esteem  for  her,  though  his  cold  tempera 
ment  and  cautious  wisdom  made  her  confine  her  expressions  of  affec- 
tion to  her  daughter  and  sister. — Am.  Ed. 


LETTERS     TO     MR.     WORTLEY.'  187 

on  my  word,  being  things  belonging  to  my  dress.  I  set  out 
early  to-morrow.  I  am  very  impatient  to  hear  from  you :  I 
could  not  stay  for  the  post  at  Dover  for  fear  of  losing  the  tide. 
I  beg  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  order  Mr.  Kent  to  pack  up 
my  side-saddle,  and  all  the  tackle  belonging  to  it,  in  a  box,  to  be 
sent  with  my  other  things  :  if  (as  I  hope)  I  recover  my  health 
abroad  so  much  as  to  ride,  I  can  get  none  I  shall  like  so  well. 


LETTER  H. 

Dijon,  August  18.  N".  S.,  1739. 
I  am  at  length  arrived  here  very  safely,  and  without  any 
bad  accident ;  and  so  much  mended  in  my  health  that  I  am 
surprised  at  it.  France  is  so  much  improved,  it  would  not  be 
known  to  be  the  same  country  we  passed  through  twenty 
years  ago.  Every  thing  I  see  speaks  in  praise  of  Cardinal 
Fleury :  the  roads  are  all  mended,  and  the  greater  part  of 
them  paved  as  well  as  the  streets  of  Paris,  planted  on  both 
sides  like  the  roads  in  Holland ;  and  such  good  care  taken 
against  robbers  that  you  may  cross  the  country  with  your 
purse  in  your  hand :  but  as  to  traveling  incognita,  I  may  as 
well  walk  incognita  in  the  Pall  Mall.  There  is  not  any  town 
in  France  where  there  are  not  English,  Scotch,  or  Irish  fami- 
lies established ;  and  I  have  met  with  people  that  have  seen  me 
(though  often  such  as  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen)  in 
every  town  I  have  passed  through  ;  and  I  think  the  further  I 
go,  the  more  acquaintances  I  meet.  Here  are  in  this  town  no 
less  than  sixteen  English  families  of  fashion.  Lord  Mansel 
lodges  in  the  house  with  mo,  and  a  daughter  of  Lord  Bathurst's 
(Mrs.  Whitshed)  is  in  the  same  street.  The  Duke  of  Rutland 
is  gone  from  hence  some  time  ago,  as  Lady  Peterborough  told 
me  at  St.  Omer's ;  which  was  one  reason  that  determined  me 
to  come  here,  thinking  to  be  quiet ;  but  I  find  it  impossible, 
and  that  will  make  me  leave  the  place,  after  the  return  of  this 
post     The  French  are  more  changed  than  their  road's ;  in- 


188  LETTERS    TO 

stead  of  pale,  yellow  faces,  wrapped  up  in  blankets,  as  we  saw 
them,  the  villages  are  all  filled  with  fresh-colored  lusty  peas- 
ants, in  good  clothes  and  clean  linen.  It  is  incredible  what  an 
air  of  plenty  and  content  is  over  the  whole  country.  I  hope 
to  hear,  as  soon  as  possible,  that  you  are  in  good  health. 


LETTER  in. 

Venice,  Sept.  25,  1739. 
I  am  at  length  happily  arrived  here,  I  thank  God  ;  I  wish 
it  had  been  my  original  plan,  which  would  have  saved  me 
some  money  and  fatigue ;  though  I  have  not  much  reason  to 
regret  the  last,  since  I  am  convinced  it  has  greatly  contributed 
to  the  restoration  of  my  health.  I  met  nothing  disagreeable 
on  my  journey  but  too  much  company.  I  find  (contrary  to 
the  rest  of  the  world)  I  did  not  think  myself  so  considerable 
as  I  am  ;  for  I  verily  believe,  if  one  of  the  pyramids  of  Egypt 
had  traveled  it  could  not  have  been  more  followed  ;  and  if 
I  had  received  all  the  visits  that  have  been  intended  me,  I 
should  have  stopped  at  least  two  years  in  every  town  I  came 
through.  I  liked  Milan  so  well  that  if  I  had  not  desired  all 
my  letters  to  be  directed  hither,  I  think  I  should  have  been 
tempted  to  stay  there.  One  of  the  pleasures  I  found  there 
was  the  Borromean  library,  where  all  strangers  have  free  ac- 
cess ;  and  not  only  so,  but  liberty,  on  giving  a  note  for  it,  to 
take  any  printed  book  home  with  them.  I  saw  several  curious 
manuscripts  there  ;  and  as  a  proof  of  my  recovery,  I  went  up 
to  the  very  top  of  the  dome  of  the  great  church  without  any 
assistance.  I  am  now  in  a  lodging  on  the  Great  Canal.  Lady 
P  )mfret  *  is  not  yet  arrived,  but  I  expect  her  very  soon ;  and 

*  Henrietta  Louisa,  daughter  and  heir  of  Lord  Chancellor  Jeffries, 
wife  of  Thomas  Earl  of  Pomfret.  She  resided  chiefly  at  Rome,  where 
she  wrote  the  life  of  Vandyck.  A  part  of  the  collection  of  marbles 
made  by  Thomas,  Earl  of  Arundel,  having  been  purchased  by  "Will- 
iam Earl  of  Pomfret,  was  given  by  her  to  the  University  of  Oxford,  i» 
1T58. 


MR.    WORTLET.  189 

if  the  air  does  not  disagree  with  me,  I  intend  seeing  the  car- 
nival here.  I  hope  your  health  continues,  and  that  I  shall 
hear  from  you  very  soon. 


LETTER  IV. 

Venice,  Dec.  25,  0.  S.  1739. 

I  received  yours  yesterday,  dated  D  ecember  7.  I  find  my  health 
very  well  here,  notwithstanding  the  cold,  which  is  very  sharp, 
but  the  sun  shines  as  clear  as  at  midsummer.  I  am  treated 
here  with  more  distinction  than  I  could  possibly  expect.  I 
went  to  see  the  ceremony  of  high  mass  celebrated  by  the 
Doge,  on  Christmas  eve.  He  appointed  a  gallery  for  me  and 
the  Prince  of  Wolsembatch,  where  no  other  person  was  ad- 
mitted but  those  of  our  company.  A  greater  compliment 
could  not  have  been  paid  me  if  I  had  been  a  sovereign  princess. 
The  Doge's  niece  (he  having  no  lady)  met  me  at  the  palace- 
gate,  and  led  me  through  the  palace  to  the  Church  of  St.  Mark, 
where  the  ceremony  was  performed  in  the  pomp  you  know, 
and  we  were  not  obliged  to  any  act  of  adoration.  The  Elec- 
toral Prince  of  Saxony  is  here  in  public,  and  makes  a  prodig- 
ious expense.  His  governor  is  Count  Wackerbart,  son  to  that 
Madame  Wackerbart  with  whom  I  was  so  intimate  at  Vienna ; 
on  which  account  he  shows  me  particular  civilities,  and  obliges 
his  pupil  to  do  the  same.  I  was  last  night  at  an  entertain- 
ment made  for  him  by  the  Signora  Pisani  Mocenigo,  which 
was  one  of  the  finest  I  ever  saw,  and  he  desired  me  to  sit  next 
him  in  a  great  chair  ;  in  short  I  have  all  the  reason  that  can 
be,  to  be  satisfied  with  my  treatment  in  this  town  *  and  I  am 
glad  I  met  Lord  Carlisle,  who  directed  me  hither. 

I  have  so  little  correspondence  at  London,  I  should  be  pleased 
to  hear  from  you  whatever  happens  among  my  acquaintance. 
I  am  sorry  for  Mr.  Pelham's  misfortune  ;*  though  'tis  long 

*  The  death  of  his  two  sons  on  two  following  days,  November  26, 
28,  1739. 


190  LETTERS     TO 

since  that  I  have  looked  on  the  hopes  of  continuing  a  family 
as  one  of  the  vainest  of  mortal  prospects. 

Tho'  Solomon,  with  a  thousand  wives, 
To  get  a  wise  successor  strives ; 
But  one,  and  he  a  fool,  survives. 


LETTER  V. 

Yenice,  June  1,  1740. 
I  wrote  you  a  long  letter  yesterday,  which  I  sent  by  a 
private  hand,  who  will  see  it  safely  delivered.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  be  better  treated,  I  may  even  say  more  courted,  than 
I  am  here.  I  am  very  glad  of  your  good  fortune  at  London. 
You  may  remember  I  have  always  told  you  it  is  in  your 
power  to  make  the  first  figure  in  the  House  of  Commons.  As 
to  the  bill,  I  perfectly  remember  the  paying  of  it,  which  you 
may  easily  believe  when  you  inquire,  that  all  auction  bills 
are  paid  at  furthest  within  eight  days  after  the  sale  :  the  date 
of  this  is  March  1,  and  I  did  not  leave  London  till  July  25  ; 
and  in  that  time  have  been  at  many  other  auctions,  particu- 
larly Lord  Halifax's,  which  was  a  short  time  before  my  jour- 
ney. This  is  not  the  first  of  Cock's  mistakes ;  he  is  famous 
for  making  them,  which  are  (he  says)  the  fault  of  his  serv- 
ants. You  seem  to  mention  the  regatta  in  a  manner  as  if 
you  would  be  pleased  with  a  ("escription  of  it.  It  is  a  race 
of  boats :  they  are  accompanied  by  vessels  which  they  call 
piotes  or  bichones,  that  have  a  mind  to  display  their  magnifi- 
cence ;  they  are  a  sort  of  machines  adorned  with  all  that 
sculpture  and  gilding  can  do  to  make  a  shining  appearance. 
Several  of  them  cost  one  thousand  pounds  sterling,  and  I  be- 
lieve none  less  than  five  hundred  ;  they  are  rowed  by  gondo- 
liers dressed  in  rich  habits,  suitable  to  what  they  represent. 
There  were  enough  of  them  to  look  like  a  little  fleet,  and  I 
own  I  never  saw  a  finer  sight.  It  would  be  too  long  to  de- 
scribe every  one  in  particular,  I  shall  oaly  name  the  princi- 


MR.     WORTLEY.  191 

pal :  the  Signora  Pisani  Mocenigo's  represented  the  Chariot 
of  the  Night,  drawn  by  four  sea-horses,  and  showing  the  ris- 
ing of  the  moon,  accompanied  with  stars,  the  statues  on  each 
side  representing  the  hours  to  the  number  of  twenty-four, 
rowed  by  gondoliers  in  rich  liveries,  which  were  changed 
three  times,  all  of  equal  richness,  and  the  decorations  changed 
also  to  the  dawn  of  Aurora  and  the  mid-day  sun,  the  statues 
being  new  dressed  every  time,  the  first  in  green,  the  second 
time  red,  and  the  last  blue,  all  equally  laced  with  silver,  there 
being  three  races.  Signor  Soranto  represented  the  kingdom 
of  Poland,  with  all  the  provinces  and  rivers  in  that  dominion, 
with  a  concert  of  the  best  instrumental  music  in  rich  Polish 
habits  ;  the  painting  and  gilding  were  exquisite  in  their  kinds. 
Signor  Contarini's  piote  showed  the  liberal  arts ;  Apollo  was 
seated  on  the  stern  upon  Mount  Parnassus,  Pegasus  behind, 
and  the  Muses  seated  round  him :  opposite  was  a  figure  rep- 
resenting Painting,  with  Fame  blowing  her  trumpet ;  and  on 
each  side  Sculpture  and  Music  in  their  proper  dresses.  The 
Procurator  Foscarini's  was  the  chariot  of  Flora  guided  by 
Cupids,  and  adorned  with  all  sorts  of  flowers,  rose-trees  etc. 
Signor  Julio  Contarini's  represented  the  triumphs  of  Valor ; 
Victory  was  on  the  stern,  and  all  the  ornaments  warlike  tro- 
phies of  every  kind.  Signor  Correri's  was  the  Adriatic  Sea 
receiving  into  her  arms  the  Hope  of  Saxony.  Signor  Alvisio 
Moncenigo's  was  the  garden  of  Hesperides  ;  the  whole  fable 
was  represented  by  different  statues.  Signor  Querini  had 
the  chariot  of  Venus  drawn  by  doves,  so  well  done,  they 
seemed  ready  to  fly  upon  the  water ;  the  Loves  and  Graces 
attendel  her.  Signor  Paul  Doria  had  the  chariot  of  Diana, 
who  appeared  hunting  in  a  large  wood ;  the  trees,  hounds, 
stag,  and  nymphs,  all  done  naturally  :  the  gondoliers  dressed 
like  peasants  attending  the  chase  ;  and  Endymion,  lying  un- 
der a  large  tree,  gazing  on  the  goddess.  Signor  Angelo  Lab- 
bia  represented  Poland  crowning  Saxony,  waited  on  by  the 
Virtues  and  subject  Provinces.  Signer  x^ngelo  Molino  was 
Neptune,  waited  on  by  the  Rivers.     Signor  Vicenzo  Moiosi- 


192  LETTERS     TO 

ni's   piote  showed  the  triumphs   of   Peace ;   Discord  being 
chained  at  her  feet,  and  she  surrounded  with  the  Pleasures,  etc. 


LETTER  VI. 

Florence,  August  11,  1740. 
This  is  a  -very  fine  town,  and  I  am  much  amused  with 
visiting  the  gallery,  which  I  do  not  doubt  you  remember  too 
well  to  need  any  description  of.  Lord  and  Lady  Pomfret 
take  pains  to  make  the  place  agreeable  to  me,  and  I  have 
been  visited  by  the  greatest  part  of  the  people  of  quality. 
Here  is  an  opera  which  I  have  heard  twice,  but  it  is  not  so 
fine  either  for  voices  or  decorations  as  that  at  Venice.  I  am 
very  willing  to  be  at  Leghorn  when  my  things  arrive,  which 
I  fear  will  hinder  my  visiting  Rome  this  season,  except  they 
come  sooner  than  is  generally  expected.  If  I  could  go  from 
thence  by  sea  to  Naples  with  safety,  I  should  prefer  it  to  a 
land  journey,  which  I  am  told  is  very  difficult ;  and  that  it  is 
impossible  I  should  stay  there  long,  the  people  being  entirely 
unsociable.  I  do  not  desire  much  company,  but  would  not 
confine  myself  to  a  place  where  I  could  see  none.  I  have 
written  to  your  daughter,  directed  to  Scotland,  this  post. 


LETTER  VII. 

Rome,  October  24,  1740. 
I  arrived  here  in  good  health  three  days  ago,  and  this  is  the 
first  post-day.  I  have  taken  a  lodging  for  a  month,  which  is 
(as  they  tell  me)  but  a  short  time  to  take  a  view  of  all  the  an- 
tiquities, etc.,  that  are  to  be  seen.  From  hence  I  purpose  to 
set  out  for  Naples.  I  am  told  by  every  body  that  I  shall  not 
find  it  agreeable  to  reside  in.  I  expect  Lady  Pomfret  here  in 
a  few  days.  It  is  summer  here,  and  I  left  winter  at  Florence ; 
the  snows  having  begun  to  fail  on  the  mountains.     I  shall 


MR.     WORTLEY.  193 

probably  see  the  new  ceremony  of  the  Pope's  taking  possession 
of  the  Vatican,  which  is  said  to  be  the  finest  that  is  ever  per- 
formed at  Rome.  I  have  no  news  to  send  from  hence.  If 
you  would  have  me  speak  to  any  particular  point,  I  beg  you 
will  let  me  know  it,  and  I  will  give  you  the  best  information 
I  am  able. 


LETTER  VIII. 

Rome,  November  1,  N.  S.,  1740. 
I  have  now  been  here  a  week,  and  am  very  well  diverted 
with  viewing  the  fine  buildings,  paintings,  and  antiquities.  I 
have  neither  made  nor  received  one  visit,  nor  sent  word  to  any 
body  of  my  arrival,  on  purpose  to  avoid  interruptions  of  that 
sort.  The  weather  is  so  fine  that  I  walk  every  evening  in  a 
different  beautiful  garden  ;  and  I  own  I  am  charmed  with  what 
I  see  of  this  town,  though  there  yet  remains  a  great  deal  more 
to  be  seen.  I  purpose  making  a  stay  of  a  month,  which  shall 
be  entirely  taken  up  in  that  employment,  and  then  I  will  re- 
move to  Ki.ples,  to  avoid,  if  possible,  feeling  the  winter.  I  do 
not  trouble  you  with  any  descriptions,  since  you  have  been 
here,  and  I  suppose  very  well  remember  every  thing  that  is 
worth  remembering ;  but  (as  I  mentioned  in  my  last)  if  you 
would  have  me  speak  to  any  particular  point,  I  will  give  you 
the  best  information  in  my  power.  Direct  your  next  letter 
to  Monsieur  Belloni,  Banquier,  a  Rome.  He  will  take  care 
to  deliver  it  to  me,  either  here  or  at  Naples.  Letters  are  very 
apt  to  miscarry,  especially  those  to  this  place. 


LETTER  IX. 

Naples,  November  23,  N.  S.,  1740. 
I  arrived  here  last  night,  after  a  very  disagreeable  journey. 
f  would  not  in  my  last  give  you  any  account  of  the  present 
state  of  Rome,  knowing  all  letters  are  opened  there  ;  but  I  can 
9 


194  LETTERS      TO 

not  help  mentioning  what  is  more  curious  than  all  the  antiqui- 
ties, which  is,  that  there  is  literally  no  money  in  the  whole 
town,  where  they  follow  Mr.  Law's  scheme,  and  live  wholly 
upon  paper. 

Belloni,  who  is  the  greatest  banker  not  only  of  Eome  but 
all  Italy,  furnished  me  with  fifty  sequins,  which  he  solemnly 
swore  was  all  the  money  he  had  in  the  house.  They  go  to 
market  with  paper,  pay  the  lodgings  with  paper,  and,  in  short, 
there  is  no  specie  to  be  seen,  which  raises  the  price  of  every 
thing  to  the  utmost  extravagance,  nobody  knowing  what  to 
ask  for  their  goods.  It  is  said  the  present  Pope  (who  has  a 
very  good  character)  has  declared  he  will  endeavor  a  remedy, 
though  it  is  very  difficult  to  find  one.  He  was  bred  a  law- 
yer, and  has  passed  the  greatest  part  of  his  life  in  that  pro- 
fession ;  and  is  so  sensible  of  the  misery  of  the  state  that  he  is 
reported  to  have  said  that  he  never  thought  himself  in  want 
till  his  elevation.  He  has  no  relations  that  he  takes  any  no- 
tice of;  but  the  country  belonging  to  him,  which  I  have 
passed,  is  almost  uninhabited,  and  in  a  poverty  beyond  any 
thing  I  ever  saw.  The  kingdom  of  Naples  appears  gay  and 
flourishing,  and  the  town  so  crowded  with  people  that  I  have 
with  great  difficulty  got  a  very  sorry  lodging. 


LETTER  X. 

Naples,  Dec.  6,  1T40. 
I  heard  last  night  the  good  news  of  the  arrival  of  the  ship 
on  which  my  things  are  loaded,  at  Leghorn  :  it  would  be  easy 
to  have  them  conveyed  hither :  I  like  the  climate  extremely, 
which  is  now  so  soft  that  I  am  actually  sitting  without  any  want 
of  a  fire.  I  do  not  find  the  people  so  savage  as  they  were  rep- 
resented to  me.  I  have  received  visits  from  several  of  the 
principal  ladies  ;  and  I  think  I  could  meet  with  as  much  com- 
pany here  as  I  desire ;  but  here  is  one  article  both  disagreeable 
and  incommodious,  which  is  the  grandeur  of  the  equipages. 


MR.     WORTLEY.  195 

Two  coaches,  two  running  footmen,  four  other  footmen,  a 
gentleman  usher,  and  two  pages,  are  as  necessary  here  as  the 
attendance  of  a  single  servant  is  at  London.  All  the  Spanish 
customs  are  observed  very  rigorously.  I  could  content  myself 
with  all  of  them,  except  this :  but  I  see  plainly,  from  my  own 
observation  as  well  as  intelligence,  that  it  is  not  to  be  dispensed 
with,  which  I  am  heartily  vexed  at. 

The  affairs  of  Europe  are  now  so  uncertain  that  it  appears 
reasonable  to  me  to  wait  a  little,  before  I  fix  my  residence,  that 
I  may  not  find  myself  in  the  theater  of  war,  which  is  threatened 
on  all  sides.  I  hope  you  have  the  continuation  of  your  health  ; 
mine  is  very  well  established  at  present.  The  town  lately  d:s- 
covered  is  at  Portici,  about  three  miles  from  this  place.  Sir  ce 
the  first  discovery,  no  care  has  been  taken,  and  the  ground 
fallen  in,  so  that  the  present  passage  to  it  is,  as  I  am  told  by 
every  body,  extremely  dangerous,  and  for  some  time,  nobody 
ventures  into  it.  I  have  been  assured  by  some  English  gentle- 
men, who  were  let  down  into  it  the  last  year,  that  the  whole 
account  given  in  the  newspapers  is  literally  true.  Probably 
great  curiosities  might  be  found  there;  but  there  has  been  no 
expense  made,  either  by  propping  the  ground  or  clearing  away 
into  it ;  and  as  the  earth  falls  in  daily,  it  will  possibly  be  soon 
stopped  up  as  it  was  before.  I  wrote  to  you  last  post  a  par- 
ticular account  of  my  reasons  for  not  choosing  my  residence 
here,  though  the  air  is  very  agreeable  to  me,  and  I  see  I  could 
have  as  much  company  as  I  desire ;  but  I  am  persuaded  the 
climate  is  much  changed  since  you  knew  it.  The  weather  is  now 
very  moist  and  misty,  and  has  been  so  for  a  long  time  ;  however 
it  is  much  softer  than  in  any  other  place  I  know.  I  desire  you 
would  direct  to  Monsieur  Belloni,  banker,  at  Rome  :  he  will 
forward  your  letters  wherever  I  am ;  the  present  uncertain  situ- 
ation of  affairs  all  over  Europe  makes  every  correspondence 
precarious. 


19b  LETTERS      TO 

LETTER  XI. 

Rome,  Jan.  13,  N.  S.,  1740-1. 
I  returned  hither  last  night,  after  six  weeks'  stay  at  Naples ; 
great  part  of  that  time  was  vainly  taken  up  in  endeavoring  to 
satisfy  your  curiosity  and  my  own,  in  relation  to  the  late  dis- 
covered town  of  Herculaneum.  I  waited  eight  days  in  hopes 
of  permission  to  see  the  pictures  and  other  rarities  taken  from 
thence,  which  are  preserved  in  the  king's  palace  at  Portici ; 
but  I  found  it  was  to  no  purpose,  his  majesty  keeping  the  key 
in  his  own  cabinet,  which  he  would  not  part  with,  though  the 
Prince  de  Zathia  (who  is  one  of  his  favorites)  I  believe  very 
sincerely  tried  his  interest  to  obtain  it  for  me.  He  is  son  to 
the  Spanish  embassador  I  knew  at  Venice,  and  both  he  and  his 
lady  loaded  me  with  civilities  at  Naples.  The  court  in  general 
is  more  barbarous  than  any  of  the  ancient  Goths.  One  proof 
of  it,  among  many  others,  was  melting  down  a  beautiful  copper 
statue  of  a  vestal  found  in  this  new  ruin,  to  make  medallions^ 
for  the  late  solemn  christening.  The  whole  court  follow  the 
Spanish  customs  and  politics.  I  could  say  a  good  deal  on  this 
subject  if  I  thought  my  letter  would  come  safe  to  your  hands ; 
the  apprehension  it  may  not,  hinders  my  answering  another 
inquiry  you  make,  concerning  a  family  here,  of  which  indeed  I 
can  say  little ;  avoiding  all  commerce  with  those  that  frequent 
it.  Here  are  some  young  English  travelers ;  among  them  Lord 
Strafford*  behaves  himself  really  very  modestly  and  genteelly, 
and  has  lost  the  pertness  he  acquired  in  his  mother's  assembly. 
Lord  Lincoln  appears  to  have  spirit  and  sense,  and  professes 
great  abhorrence  of  all  measures  destructive  to  the  liberty  of 

*  "William  Wentworth,  the  fourth  Earl  of  Strafford,  married  Lady 
Anne,  second  daughter  of  John  Duke  of  Argyll,  sister  of  Lady  Mary 
Coke  and  Lady  Betty  Mackenzie.  He  built  the  south  front  of  Went- 
worth Castle,  in  Yorkshire,  and  was  eminently  skilled  in  architecture 
and  virtue.  He  enjoyed  an  intimate  friendship  with  the  last  Lord  Or- 
ford,  in  the  fifth  volume  of  whose  works  his  correspondence  is  pub- 
lished from  1756  to  1790. 


MR.     W0RTLEY.  197 

his  country.  I  do  not  know  how  far  the  young  men  may  be 
corrupted  on  their  return,  but  the  majority  of  those  I  have  seen 
have  seemed  strongly  in  the  same  sentiment.  Lady  Newburgh'a 
eldest  daughter,  whom  I  believe  you  may  have  seen  at  Lord 
Westmoreland's,  is  married  to  Count  Mahony,  who  is  in  great 
figure  at  Naples :  she  was  extremely  obliging  to  me ;  they  made 
a  fine  entertainment  for  me,  carried  me  to  the  opera,  and  were 
civil  to  me  to  the  utmost  of  their  power.  If  you  should  happen 
to  see  Mrs.  Bulkely,  I  wish  you  would  make  her  some  compli- 
ment upon  it.  I  received  this  day  yours  of  the  20th  and  28th 
of  November. 


LETTER  XII. 

Leghorn,  Feb.  25,  N.  S.,  1740-1. 

I  arrived  here  last  night,  and  have  received  this  morning 
the  bill  of  seven  hundred  and  five  dollars,  odd  money. 

I  shall  be  a  little  more  particular  in  my  accounts  from  hence 
than  I  durst  be  from  Rome,  where  all  the  letters  are  opened 
and  often  stopped.  I  hope  you  had  mine,  relating  to  the  an- 
tiquities in  Naples.  I  shall  now  say  something  of  the  court  of 
Rome.  The  first  minister,  Cardinal  Valenti,  has  one  of  the 
best  characters  I  ever  heard  of,  though  of  no  great  birth,  and 
has  made  his  fortune  by  an  attachment  to  the  Duchess  of  Sal- 
viah.  The  present  Pope  is  very  much  beloved,  and  seems  de- 
sirous to  ease  the  people,  and  deliver  them  out  of  the  miser- 
able poverty  they  are  reduced  to.  I  will  send  you  the  history 
of  his  elevation,  as  I  had  it  from  a  very  good  hand,  if  it  will  be 
any  amusement  to  you.  The  English  travelers  at  Rome  be- 
haved in  general  very  discreetly.  I  have  reason  to  speak  well 
of  them,  since  they  were  all  exceedingly  obliging  to  me.  It 
may  sound  a  little  vain  to  say  it,  but  they  really  paid  a  regular 
court  to  me,  as  if  I  had  been  their  queen,  and  their  governess 
told  me  that  the  desire  of  my  approbation  had  a  very  great 
influence  on  their  conduct.  While  I  staid  there  was  neither 
gaming  nor  any  sort  of  extravagance.     I  used  to  preach  to 


198  LETTERS     TO 

them  very  freely,  and  they  all  thanked  me  for  it.  I  shall  sta) 
some  time  in  this  town,  where  I  expect  Lady  Pomfret.  I  think 
I  have  answered  every  particular  you  seemed  curious  about. 
If  there  be  any  other  point  you  would  have  me  speak  of,  I  will 
be  as  exact  as  I  can. 


LETTER  XIII. 


Tubin,  April  11,  1H1. 
The  English  politics  are  the  general  jest  of  all  the  nations  I 
have  passed  through  ;  and  even  those  who  profit  by  our  folly 
can  not  help  laughing  at  our  notorious  blunders  ;  though  they 
are  all  persuaded  that  the  minister  does  not  act  from  weakness 
but  corruption,  and  that  the  Spanish  gold  influences  his  meas- 
ures. I  had  a  long  discourse  with  Count  Mahony  on  this  sub- 
ject, who  said,  very  freely,  that  half  the  ships  sent  to  the 
coast  of  Naples,  that  have  lain  idle  in  our  ports  last  summer, 
would  have  frightened  the  Queen  of  Spain  into  a  submission 
to  whatever  terms  we  thought  proper  to  impose.  The  people, 
who  are  loaded  with  taxes,  hate  the  Spanish  government,  of 
which  I  had  daily  proofs,  hearing  them  curse  the  English  for 
bringing  their  king  to  them,  whenever  they  saw  any  of  our 
nation  ;  but  I  am  not  much  surprised  at  the  ignorance  of  our 
ministers,  after  seeing  what  creatures  they  employ  to  send 
them  intelligence.  Except  Mr.  Villette,  at  this  court,  there  is 
not  one  that  has  common  sense ;  I  say  this  without  prejudice, 
all  of  them  having  been  as  civil  and  serviceable  to  me  as  they 
could.  I  was  told  at  Rome,  and  convinced  of  it  by  circum- 
stances, that  there  have  been  great  endeavors  to  raise  up  a 
sham  plot ;  the  person  who  told  it  me  was  an  English  anti- 
quarian, who  said  he  had  been  offered  any  money  to  send  ac- 
cusations. The  truth  is,  he  carried  a  letter,  written  by  Mr. 
Mann,*  from  Florence  to  that  purpose  to  him,  which  he  showed 
in  the  English  palace ;  however,  I  believe  he  is  a  spy,  and 
*  Sir  Horace  Mann. 


MR.     WORTLET.  199 

made  use  of  that  stratagem  to  gain  credit.  This  court  makes 
great  preparations  for  war;  the  king  is  certainly  uo  bright 
genius,  but  has  great  natural  humanity  ;  his  minister,  who  has 
absolute  power,  is  generally  allowed  to  have  sense ;  as  a  proof 
of  it,  he  is  not  hated  as  the  generality  of  ministers  are.  I  have 
seen  neither  of  them,  not  going  to  court,  because  I  will  not  be 
at  the  trouble  and  expense  of  the  dress,  which  is  the  same  as 
at  Vienna.  I  sent  my  excuse  by  Mr.  Villette,  as  I  hear  is 
commonly  practiced  by  ladies  that  are  only  passengers.  I  have 
had  a  great  number  of  visitors ;  the  nobility  piquing  them- 
selves on  civility  to  strangers.  The  weather  is  still  exceed- 
ingly cold,  and  I  do  not  intend  to  move  till  I  have  the  pros- 
pect of  a  pleasant  journey. 


LETTER  XIV. 

Genoa,  July  15,  1741. 
It  is  so  long  since  I  have  heard  from  you,  that  though  I 
hope  your  silence  is  occasioned  by  your  being  in  the  country, 
yet  I  can  not  help  being  very  uneasy,  and  in  some  apprehen- 
sion that  you  are  indisposed.  I  wrote  you  word,  some  time 
ago,  that  I  have  taken  a  house  here  for  the  remainder  of  the 
summer,  and  desired  you  would  direct,  recommande  a  Monsieur 
Births,  Consul  de  S,  M.  Britannique.  I  saw  in  the  last 
newspapers  (which  he  sends  me)  the  death  of  Lord  Orford.  I 
am  vexed  at  it,  for  the  reasons  you  know,  and  recollect  what 
I've  often  heard  you  say,  that  it  is  impossible  to  judge  what 

is  best  for  ourselves.     I  received  yesterday  the  bill  for , 

for  which  I  return  you  thanks.  If  I  wrote  you  all  the  politi- 
cal stories  I  hear,  I  should  have  a  great  deal  to  say.  A  great 
part  is  not  true,  and  what  I  think  so,  I  dare  not  mention,  in 
consideration  of  the  various  hands  this  paper  must  pass 
through  before  it  reaches  you.     Lord  Lincoln*  and  Mr.  Wal- 

°  Henry  Clinton,  Earl  of  Lincoln,  married  Catherine,  daughter  of 
Henry  Pelham,  and  was  afterward  Duke  of  Newcastle. 


200  LETTERS      TO 

pole*  (youngest  son  to  Sir  Robert)  left  this  place  two  days 
ago ;  they  visited  me  during  their  short  stay ;  they  are  gone  to 
Marseilles,  and  design  passing  some  months  in  the  south  of 
France.  I  have  had  a  particular  account  of  Lord  Orford's 
deathf  from  a  very  good  hand,  which  he  advanced  by  choice, 
refusing  all  remedies  till  it  was  too  late  to  make  use  of  them. 
There  was  a  will  found,  dated  1728,  in  which  he  gave  every 
thing  to  my  lady ;  J  which  has  affected  her  very  much.  Not- 
withstanding the  many  reasons  she  had  to  complain  of  him,  I 
always  thought  there  was  more  weakness  than  dishonesty  in 
his  actions,  and  is  a  confirmation  of  the  truth  of  that  maxim 
of  Mr.  Rochefoucault,  un  sot  Tea  pas  assez  d'etoffe pour  etre 
honnete  homme. 


LETTER  XV. 

Genoa,  Aug.  25,  N.  S.,  1741. 

I  received  yours  of  the  27th  July  this  morning.  I  had  that 
of  March  19,  which  I  answered  very  particularly  the  following 
post,  with  many  thanks  for  the  increase  of  my  allowance.  It 
appears  to  me  that  the  letters  I  wrote  between  the  11th  of 
April  and  the  31st  of  May  were  lost,  which  I  am  not  surprised 
at.  I  was  then  at  Turin,  and  that  court  in  a  very  great  con- 
fusion, and  extremely  jealous  of  me,  thinking  I  came  to  exam- 
ine their  conduct.  I  have  some  proof  of  this,  which  I  do  not 
repeat,  lest  this  should  be  stopped  also. 

The  manners  of  Italy  are  so  much  changed  since  we  were 
here  last,  the  alteration  is  scarcely  credible.  They  say  it  has 
been  by  the  last  war.     The  French,  being  masters,  introduced 

*  Honorable  Horace  "Walpole,  the  last  Earl  of  Orford,  then  on  hia 
travels. 

f  Robert,  the  second  Earl  of  Orford,  died  in  June  1741. 

\  Margaret,  daughter  and  sole  heir  of  Samuel  Rolle  of  Haynton,  in 
the  county  of  Dorset,  who  married  secondly  the  Hon.  Sewallis  Shirley, 
fourth  son  of  the  first  Earl  Ferrers  by  his  second  wife  Selina,  daughter 
of  George  Finch,  of  the  City  of  London,  Esq. 


MR.     WOETLEY.  201 

all  their  customs,  which  were  eagerly  embraced  by  the  ladies, 
and  I  believe  will  never  be  laid  aside ;  yet  the  different  govern- 
ments make  different  manners  in  every  state.  You  know, 
though  the  republic  is  not  rich,  here  are  many  private  families 
vastly  so,  and  live  at  a  great  superfluous  expense :  all  the  peo- 
ple of  the  first  quality  keep  coaches  as  fine  as  the  Speaker's, 
and  some  of  them  two  or  three,  though  the  streets  are  too  nar- 
row to  use  them  in  the  town  ;  but  they  take  the  air  in  them,  and 
their  chairs  carry  them  to  the  gates.  Their  liveries  are  all 
plain :  gold  or  silver  being  forbidden  to  be  worn  within  the 
walls,  the  habits  are  all  obliged  to  be  black,  but  they  wear  ex- 
ceedingly fine  lace  and  linen ;  and  in  their  country-houses, 
which  are  generally  in  the  faubourg,  they  dress  very  richly, 
and  have  extremely  fine  jewels.  Here  is  nothing  cheap  but 
houses.  A  palace  fit  for  a  prince  may  be  hired  for  fifty  pounds 
per  annum :  I  mean  unfurnished.  All  games  of  chance  are 
strictly  prohibited,  and  it  seems  to  me  the  only  law  they  do  not 
try  to  evade  :  they  play  at  quadrille,  picquet,  etc.,  but  not  high. 
Here  are  no  regular  public  assemblies.  I  have  been  visited  by 
all  of  the  first  rank,  and  invited  to  several  fine  dinners,  particu- 
larly to  the  wedding  of  one  of  the  House  of  Spinola,  where  there 
were  ninety-six  sat  down  to  table,  and  I  think  the  entertainment 
one  of  the  finest  I  ever  saw.  There  was  the  night  following  a 
ball  and  supper  for  the  same  company,  with  the  same  profusion. 
They  tell  me  that  all  their  great  marriages  are  kept  in  the  same 
public  manner.  Nobody  keeps  more  than  two  horses,  all  their 
journeys  being  post ;  the  expense  of  them,  including  the  coach 
man,  is  (I  am  told)  fifty  pounds  per  annum.  A  chair  is  very 
nearly  as  much ;  I  give  eighteen  francs  a-week  for  mine.  The 
senators  can  converse  with  no  strangers  during  the  time  of 
their  magistracy,  which  lasts  two  years.  The  number  of  serv- 
ants is  regulated,  and  almost  every  lady  has  the  same,  which 
is  two  footmen,  a  gentleman-usher,  and  a  page,  who  follow  her 
chair. 

9* 


202  LETTERS     TO     MR.     WORTLET. 

LETTER  XVI. 

Geneva,  Oct.  12,  1741. 
I  arrived  here  last  night,  where  I  find  every  thing  quite  dif- 
ferent from  what  it  was  represented  to  me :  it  is  not  the  first 
time  it  has  so  happened  to  me  on  my  travels.  Every  thing  is 
as  dear  as  it  is  at  London.  'Tis  true,  as  all  equipages  are 
forbidden,  that  expense  is  entirely  retrenched.  I  have  been 
visited  this  morning  by  some  of  the  chiefs  of  the  town,  who 
seem  extremely  good  sort  of  people,  which  is  their  general 
character ;  very  desirous  of  attracting  strangers  to  inhabit  with 
them,  and  consequently  very  officious  in  all  they  imagine  can 
please  them.  The  way  of  living  is  absolutely  the  reverse  of 
that  in  Italy.  Here  is  no  show,  and  a  great  deal  of  eating ; 
there  is  all  the  magnificence  imaginable,  and  no  dinners  but  on 
particular  occasions ;  yet  the  difference  of  the  prices  renders 
the  total  expense  very  nearly  equal.  As  I  am  not  yet  deter- 
mined whether  I  shall  make  any  considerable  stay,  I  desire  not 
to  have  the  money  you  intended  me,  till  I  ask  for  it.  If  you 
have  any  curiosity  for  the  present  condition  of  any  of  the  states 
of  Italy,  I  believe  I  can  give  yoil  a  truer  account  than  perhaps 
any  other  traveler  can  do,  having  always  had  the  good  fortune 
of  a  sort  of  intimacy  with  the  first  persons  in  the  governments 
where  I  resided,  and  they  not  guarding  themselves  against  the 
observations  of  a  woman,  as  they  would  have  done  from  those 
of  a  man. 


LETTER  XVE. 

Chameery,  Nov.  30,  NT.  S.,  1741. 
1  received  this  morning  yours  of  October  26,  which  has 
taken  me  out  of  the  uneasiness  of  fearing  for  your  health.  I 
suppose  you  know  before  this  the  Spaniards  are  landed  at 
different  ports  in  Italy,  etc.  When  I  received  early  informa- 
tion of  the  design,  I  had  the  charity  to  mention  it  to  the  En- 


LETTER     FROM     MR.     WORTLEY.  203 

glish  consul  (without  naming  my  informer) ;  he  laughed,  and 
answered  it  was  impossible.  This  may  serve  for  a  small  spe- 
cimen of  the  general  good  intelligence  our  wise  ministry  have 
of  all  foreign  affairs.  If  you  were  acquainted  with  the  people 
whom  they  employ,  you  would  not  be  surprised  at  it.  Except 
Mr.  Villette  at  Turin  (who  is  a  very  reasonable  man),  there  is 
not  one  of  them  who  knows  any  thing  more  of  the  country 
they  inhabit  than  that  they  eat  and  sleep  in  it.  I  have  wrote 
you  word  that  I  left  Geneva  on  the  sharpness  of  the  air,  which 
much  disagreed  with  me.  I  find  myself  better  here,  though  the 
weather  is  very  cold  at  present.  Yet  this  situation  is  not  sub- 
ject to  those  terrible  winds  which  reign  at  Geneva.  I  dare 
write  you  no  news,  though  I  hear  a  great  deal.  Direct  to  me 
at  Chambery  en  Savoye,  par  Paris. 


LETTER  XVIII. 

FROM   MR.    WORTLEY   TO    LADY   MARY. 

22d  March,  H41-2. 
Our  son  embarked  at  Harwich  on  the  10th,  after  having 
been  in  England  about  three  months.  I  hear  he  avoided  the 
sharpers,  and  is  grown  a  good  manager  of  his  money.  But 
his  weakness  is  such  that  Mr.  Gibson  with  much  difficulty  pre- 
vailed with  him  to  go  back ;  and  he  writ  a  letter  as  if  he  was 
afraid  he  should  come  hither  again  unless  he  was  soon  advised 
what  to  do.  He  declares  as  if  he  wanted  to  be  in  the  army, 
unless  something  more  for  his  advantage  is  proposed,  and  I 
have  said  to  Mr.  G.  I  will  not  oppose  his  going  into  the  army 
as  a  volunteer,  but  that  I  believe  he  may  take  some  course 
more  to  his  advantage.  I  hear  my  Lord  Carteret,  with  whom 
he  has  been  more  than  once,  speaks  well  of  his  behavior.  But 
his  obstinacy  in  staying  here,  and  what  he  writes,  inclines  me 
to  think  it  will  not  be  easy  to  persuade  him  to  follow  good  ad- 
vice. I  can  not  imagine  any  body  is  so  likely  as  yourself  to 
give  an  impartial  account  of  him.     Under  this  difficulty,  I  can 


204  LETTER    FROM 

think  of  no  better  expedient  than  to  advise  him  to  apply  to 
you  for  leave  to  come  to  some  place  where  you  may  converse 
with  him.  If  you  appoint  him  to  be  at  a  place  twenty  miles 
or  further  from  that  where  you  choose  to  reside,  and  order 
him  to  go  by  a  feigned  name,  you  may  easily  reach  him  in  a 
post-chaise,  and  come  back,  after  you  have  passed  a  week 
where  he  is.  And  this  you  may  do  more  than  once,  to  make 
a  full  trial  of  him.  And  I  wish  he  might  stay  within  a  certain 
distance  of  you,  till  you  have  given  an  account  of  him,  and 
have  agreed  to  what  is  fixed  between  him  and  you. 

He  declares  he  sets  his  heart  on  being  in  England,  but  then 
he  should  give  me  such  proofs  as  I  require  that  he  is  able  to 
persevere  in  behaving  like  a  reasonable  man.  These  proofs 
may  be  agreed  on  between  you  and  me,  and  I  believe  I  shall 
readily  agree  to  what  you  shall  think  light. 

I  think  you  should  say  nothing  to  him  but  in  the  most  calm 
and  gentle  way  possible,  that  he  may  be  invited  to  open  him- 
self to  you  freely.  He  seems,  I  hear,  shocked  at  your  letter,  in 
which  you  complained  of  his  not  regarding  the  truth,  though 
I  believe  you  made  no  mistake  in  it,  unless  your  saying  his 
marriage  could  not  be  dissolved.  He  knows  very  well  it  may 
by  act  of  Parliament,  which  is  what  he  means  when  he  writes 
he  wants  to  be  quit  of  his  wife.  He  denies  that  he  knew 
Birtles  to  be  nephew  to  Henshaw  who  lent  the  £200.  As  he 
is  commended  by  several  here,  and  by  more  in  Holland  (who 
perhaps  .flatter  him),  it  may  be  wrong  to  speak  to  him  with 
any  show  of  warmth  or  anger. 

I  incline  to  think  he  has  been  made  an  enthusiast  in  Hol- 
land, and  you  would  do  well  to  try  thoroughly  whether  he  is 
in  earnest,  and  likely  to  continue  so.  If  he  is,  I  need  not 
mention  how  much  caution  should  be  used  in  speaking  to 
him.  I  think,  whatever  his  notions  are,  you  would  do  well  to 
say  nothing  to  him  but  what  you  would  say  before  any  com-, 
pany. 

I  shall  advise  him  by  Mr.  G.  to  go  to  Langres,  or  some  place 
near  it,  where  he  may  wait  for  your  answer  to  such  letter  as 


MB.    WORTLEY.  205 

he  writes  for  leave  to  come  to  any  place  you  shall  appoint 
him. 

I  shall  give  you  fuller  instructions  about  him  in  a  post  or 
two,  if  not  by  this.  I  hope  this  affair  will  not  be  very  trouble- 
some to  you,  as  you  can  retire  from  him  whenever  you  please. 
lie  shall  not  have  much  more  money  than  is  sufficient  to 
carry  him  to  you.  When  you  have  furnished  him  with  any, 
it  shall  be  made  good  to  you. 

To  tell  you  fully  what  I  judge  of  him  from  the  variety  of 
accounts  I  have  had,  I  incline  to  think  he  will  for  the  future 
avoid  thieves,  and  be  no  ill  manager  of  his  money.  These, 
you  will  say,  are  great  amendments.  But  I  believe  he  will  al- 
ways appear  a  weak  man.  The  single  question  seems  to  be 
whether  he  will  be  one  of  those  weak  men  that  will  follow 
the  advice  of  those  who  wish  them  well,  or  be  governed  by 
his  own  fancies,  or  companions  that  will  make  a  prey  of  him. 
In  Holland  he  seems  to  have  followed  the  advice  of  Captain 
Leutslager  and  other  persons  of  good  credit.  I  believe  he  has 
been  in  no  company  here  this  last  time  but  men  of  good 
credit,  and  I  hear  he  values  himself  upon  it.  I  have  not 
heard  so  much  as  I  hope  I  shall  in  a  week,  of  the  opinion  of 
those  who  conversed  with  him.  If  you  have  patience  to 
pass  away  hours  with  him,  you  will  know  him  better  than 
any  one. 

I  need  not  recommend  to  you  the  discoursing  with  him  fully 
upon  his  patience,  and  his  observing  his  promises  strictly. 

Mr.  Gibson  says  his  whole  deportment  and  conversation  h 
entirely  different  from  what  it  was  when  he  was  here  above 
four  years  ago,  and  that  he  seems  another  man. 

To  give  you  all  the  light  I  can  into  him,  I  send  you  letters 
writ  to  him  by  Captain  Leutslager  and  others.  I  also  send 
you  extracts  of  his  own  letters,  to  show  you  how  he  has  acted 
contrary  to  his  professions.  I  doubt  you  will  find  him  quite 
obstinate  for  going  into  the  army,  unless  he  may  be  quite  cer- 
tain of  mending  his  circumstances  some  other  way.  He  may 
perhaps  speak  of  promises  I  made  him  by  Mr.  G. ;  but  I  made 


206  LETTER    FROM    MR.    WORTLEY. 

none,  but  that  I  would  let  him  know  by  Mr.  G.  what  I  ad 
vised  him  to  do  as  preferable  to  his  going  to  the  army.   What 
I  meant  was  his  discoursing  with  you,  if  you  allowed  him, 
and  his  following  your  advice. 

That  you  may  have  the  state  of  the  case  more  fully,  I  send 
you  his  letter  to  Mr.  G.,  which  came  by  the  last  mail,  and  a 
copy  of  that  which  Mr.  G.  will  send  him  to-morrow. 

Mr.  G.  told  me  our  son  thought  it  hard  usage  that  orders 
should  be  given  to  confine  him  in  Holland,  and  told  Mr.  G. 
that  whenever  he  kept  much  company  it  would  be  right  to 
get  him  confined,  to  prevent  his  going  to  the  pillory  or  to  the 
gallows. 

As  he  excuses  his  coming  over  by  the  uneasiness  he  was 
under,  I  gave  Mr.  G.  these  words : 

"  The  excuse  of  the  uneasiness  you  should  be  under  in  doing 
right,  is  the  same  excuse  which  is  constantly  used  by  all  mur- 
derers and  robbers,  and  seems  to  have  been  taught  you  by  the 
infamous  company  by  which  you  were  influenced  when  you 
were  here  above  four  years  ago." 

Mr.  G.  said  these  words  were  too  strong  for  him  to  write, 
and  changed  them  for  a  paragraph  of  his  own,  by  which  he 
says  he  means  the  same  thing.  He  agreed  it  would  be  quite 
right  in  you  to  use  these  strong  words  ;  but  you  may  do  it  in 
a  gentle  way. 

He  may  have  more  cunning  than  is  imagined  to  gain  his 
points,  and  perhaps  is  not  made  uneasy  by  being  abroad,  and 
may  have  little  or  no  inclination  to  go  into  the  army,  but 
thinks,  to  prevent  it,  I  may  give  him  some  considerable  ad- 
vantage. If  you  seem  not  at  all  averse  to  his  going,  per- 
haps he  will  of  himself  quit  that  scheme,  and  go  into  some 
other  that  you  may  like  better. 

If  you  think  it  best  he  should  make  a  campaign,  you  will 
take  care  not  to  detain  him  too  long.  Perhaps  you  may  re- 
commend him  to  our  minister  at  Turin,  that  he  may  serve  in 
the  Sardinian  forces,  where,  if  he  should  do  wrong,  it  will  be 
less  known  than  if  he  did  it  in  Flanders. 


LETTERS     TO     MR.     WORTLEY.  207 

Perhaps,  by  another  name,  he  might  meet  you  unobserved 
at  Lyons,  01  Pont  Beauvoisin.  I  need  not  mention  that  what- 
ever money  you  put  into  his  hands  shall  be  repaid  you  at  de- 
mand. If  he  goes  back  to  Holland,  I  suppose  £20  is  enough 
for  his  charges. 

I  have  yours  of  the  24th  February.  Lord  and  Lady  Bute 
seem  tc  live  well  together.  They  lost  their  son  (who  was 
above  a  year  old)  on  the  16th  ;  he  had  fits  and  a  fever.  The 
surgeons  say  his  brains  were  too  large,  and  occasioned  the  fits. 


LETTER  XIX. 

FROM    LADY    MAUY    TO    MR.  WORTLEY. 

Lyons,  April  13,  N.  S.,  1742. 
I  have  this  minute  received  four  letters  from  you,  dated 
February  1,  February  22,  March  22,  March  29th.  I  fancy 
their  lying  so  long  in  the  post-office  may  proceed  from  your 
forgetting  to  frank  them,  which  I  am  informed  is  quite  neces- 
sary. I  am  very  glad  you  have  been  prevailed  on  to  let  our 
son  take  a  commission  ;  if  you  had  prevented  it,  he  would 
have  always  said,  and  perhaps  thought,  and  persuaded  other 
people,  you  had  hindered  his  rising  in  the  world  ;  though  I 
am  fully  persuaded  that  he  can  never  make  a  tolerable  figure 
in  any  station  of  life.  When  he  was  at  Morins,  on  his  first 
leaving  France,  I  then  tried  to  prevail  with  him  to  serve  the 
emperor  as  volunteer ;  and  represented  to  him  that  a  hand- 
some behavior  one  campaign  might  go  a  great  way  in  retriev- 
ing his  character ;  and  offered  to  use  my  influence  with  you 
(which  I  said  I  had  no  doubt  would  succeed)  to  furnish  him 
with  a  handsome  equipage.  He  then  answered,  he  supposed 
I  wished  him  killed  out  of  the  way.  I  am  afraid  his  pre- 
tended reformation  is  not  very  sincere.  I  wish  time  may 
prove  me  in  the  wrong.  I  here  inclose  the  last  letter  I  re- 
ceived from  him ;  I  answered  it  the  following  post,  in  these 
words : 


208  LETTERS    TO 

"  I  am  veiy  glad  you  resolve  to  continue  obedient  to  your 
father,  and  are  sensible  of  bis  goodness  toward  you.  Mr. 
Birtles  showed  me  your  letter  to  him,  in  which  you  inclosed 
yours  to  me,  where  you  speak  to  him  as  your  friend,  subscrib- 
ing yourself  his  faithful  humble  servant.  He  was  at  Genoa 
in  his  uncle's  house  when  you  were  there,  and  well  acquainted 
with  you ;  though  you  seem  ignorant  of  every  thing  relating 
to  him.  I  wish  you  would  not  make  such  sort  of  apologies 
for  any  errors  you  may  commit.  I  pray  God  your  future  be- 
havior may  redeem  the  past,  which  will  be  a  great  blessing  to 
your  affectionate  mother." 

I  have  not  since  heard  from  him ;  I  suppose  he  knew  not 
what  to  say  to  so  plain  a  detected  falsehood.  It  is  very  dis- 
agreeable to  me  to  converse  with  one  from  whom  I  do  not  ex- 
pect to  hear  a  word  of  truth,  and  who,  I  am  very  sure,  will 
repeat  many  things  that  never  passed  in  our  conversation. 
You  see  the  most  solemn  assurances  are  not  binding  from 
him,  since  he  could  come  to  London  in  opposition  to  your 
commands,  after  having  so  frequently  protested  he  would  not 
move  a  step  but  by  your  order.  However,  as  you  insist  on* 
my  seeing  him,  I  will  do  it,  and  think  Valence  the  properest 
town  for  that  interview ;  it  is  but  two  days'  journey  from 
this  place,  it  is  in  Dauphine.  I  arrived  here  Friday  night, 
having  left  Chambery  on  the  report  of  the  French  designing 
to  come  soon  thither.  So  far  is  certain,  that  the  governor  had 
given  command  for  repairing  the  walls,  etc. ;  on  which  men 
were  actually  employed  when  I  came  away.  But  the  Court 
of  Turin  is  so  politic  and  mysterious  it  is  hard  to  judge ; 
and  I  am  apt  to  believe  their  designs  change  according  to 
circumstances. 

I  shall  stay  here  till  I  have  an  answer  to  this  letter.  If 
you  order  your  son  to  go  to  Valence,  I  desire  you  would  give 
him  a  strict  command  of  going  by  a  feigned  name.  I  do 
not  doubt  your  returning  me  whatever  money  I  may  give 
him-;  but  as  I  believe  if  he  receives  money  from  me,  he 
will  be  making  me  frequent  visits,  it  is  clearly  my  opinion 


MR.     WORTLET, 


209 


that  I  should  give  him  none.  Whatever  you  may  think 
proper  for  his  journey  you  may  remit  him. 

I  am  very  sorry  for  my  daughter's  loss,  being  sensible  how 
much  it  may  affect  her.  I  suppose  it  will  be  soon  repaired. 
It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  me  when  I  hear  she  is  happy.  I 
wrote  to  her  last  post,  and  will  write  again  the  next. 

Siuce  I  wrote,  I  have  looked  every  where  for  my  son's  letter, 
which  I  find  has  been  mislaid  in  the  journey.  There  is 
nothing  more  in  it  than  long  professions  of  doing  nothing 
but  by  your  command ;  and  a  positive  assertion  that  he  was 
ignorant  of  Mr.  Birtles's  relation  to  the  late  consul. 

Direct  your  next,  recommande  a  Mr.  Imbert,  Banquier,  a 
Lyons. 


LETTER  XX. 


Lyons,  April  25,  N.  S.,  1742. 
On  recollection  (however  inconvenient  it  may  be  to  me),  I 
am  not  sorry  to  converse  with  my  son.  I  shall  at  least  have 
the  satisfaction  of  making  a  clear  judgment  of  his  behavior 
and  temper,  which  I  shall  deliver  to  you  in  the  most  sincere 
and  unprejudiced  manner.  You  need  not  apprehend  that  I 
shall  speak  to  him  in  passion.  I  do  not  know  that  I  ever 
did  in  my  life.  I  am  not  apt  to  be  overheated  in  discourse, 
and  am  so  far  prepared,  even  for  the  worst  on  his  side,  that  I 
think  nothing  he  can  say  can  alter  the  resolution  I  have  taken 
of  treating  him  with  calmness.  Both  reason  and  interest  (were 
I  inclined  to  follow  blindly  the  dictates  of  either)  would  deter- 
mine me  to  wish. him  your  heir  rather  than  a  stranger ;  but  I 
think  myself  obliged  both  by  honor  and  by  conscience,  and 
my  regard  for  you.  no  way  to  deceive  you ;  and  I  confess, 
hitherto  I  see  nothing  but  falsehood  and  weakness  through 
his  whole  conduct.  It  is  possible  his  person  may  be  altered 
since  I  saw  him,  but  his  figure  then  was  very  agreeable,  and 
his  manner  insinuating.     I  very  well  remember  the  professions 


210  LETTERS     TO 

he  made  to  me,  and  do  not  doubt  he  is  lavish  of  them  to  other 
people.  Perhaps  Lord  Carteret  may  think  him  no  ill  match 
for  an  ugly  girl  that  sticks  on  his  hands.  The  project  of 
breaking  his  marriage  shows,  at  least,  his  devotion  counterfeit, 
since  I  am  sensible  it  can  not  be  done  but  by  false  witness. 
His  wife  is  not  young  enough  to  get  gallants,  nor  rich  enough  to 
buy  them. 

I  made  choice  of  Valence  for  our  meeting  as  a  town  where 
we  are  not  likely  to  find  any  English,  and  he  may,  if  he 
pleases,  be  quite  unknown,  which  is  hardly  possible  to  be  in 
any  capital  town  either  of  France  or  Italy.  Here  are  many 
English  of  the  trading  sort  of  people,  who  are  more  likely  to  be 
inquisitive  and  talkative  than  any  other.  Near  Chamhery  there 
is  a  little  colony  of  English,  who  have  undertaken  the  work- 
ing the  mines  in  Savoy,  in  which  they  find  very  pure  silver, 
of  which  I  have  seen  several  cakes  of  about  eighty  ounces 
each. 


LETTER  XXI. 


Avignon,  June  10,  N.  S.,  1742. 
I  am  just  returned  from  passing  two  days  with  our  son,  of 
whom  I  will  give  you  the  most  exact  account  I  am  capable  of. 
He  is  so  much  altered  in  person,  I  should  scarcely  have  known 
him.  He  has  entirely  lost  his  beauty,  and  looks  at  least  seven 
years  older  than  he  did  ;  and  the  wildness  that  he  always  had 
in  his  eyes  is  so  much  increased  it  is  downright  shocking,  and 
I  am  afraid  will  end  fatally.  He  is  grown  fat,  but  he  is  still 
genteel,  and  has  an  air  of  politeness  that  is  agreeable.  He 
speaks  French  like  a  Frenchman,  and  has  got  all  the  fashion- 
able expressions  of  that  language,  and  a  volubility  of  words 
which  he  always  had,  and  which  I  do  not  wonder  should  pass 
for  wit,  with  inconsiderate  people.  His  behavior  is  perfectly- 
civil,  and  I  found  him  very  submissive ;  but  in  the  main,  no 
way  really  improved  in  his  understanding,  which  is  exceed- 


MR.     WORTL'EY.  211 

ingly  weak;  and  I  am  convinced  he  will  always  be  led  by  the 
person  he  converses  with  either  right  or  wrong,  not  being 
capable  of  forming  any  fixed  judgment  of  his  own.  As  to  his 
enthusiasm,  if  he  had  it,  I  suppose  he  has  already  lost  it;  since 
I  could  perceive  no  turn  of  it  in  all  his  conversation.  But  with 
his  head  I  believe  it  is  possible  to  make  him  a  monk  one  day 
and  a  Turk  three  days  after.  He  has  a  flattering,  insinuating 
manner,  which  naturally  prejudices  strangers  in  his  favor. 
He  began  to  talk  to  me  in  the  usual  silly  cant  I  have  so  often 
heard  from  him,  which  I  shortened  by  telling  him  I  desired 
not  to  be  troubled  with  it ;  that  professions  were  of  no  use 
where  actions  were  expected ;  and  that  the  only  thing  could 
give  me  hopes  of  a  good  conduct  was  regularity  and  truth.  He 
very  readily  agreed  to  all  I  said  (as  indeed  he  has  always  done 
when  he  has  not  been  hot-headed).  I  endeavored  to  convince 
him  how  favorably  he  has  been  dealt  with,  his  allowance 
being  much  more  than,  had  I  been  his  father,  I  would  have 
given  in  the  same  case.  The  Prince  of  Hesse,  who  is  now 
married  to  the  Princess  of  England,  lived  some  years  at  Geneva 
on  £500  per  annum.  Lord  Hervey  sent  his  son  at  sixteen 
thither,  and  to  travel  afterward,  on  no  larger  pension  than 
£200  ;  and,  though  without  a  governor,  he  had  reason  enough, 
not  only  to  live  within  the  compass  of  it,  but  carried  home 
little  presents  to  his  father  and  mother,  which  he  showed  me 
at  Turin.  In  short,  I  know  there  is  no  place  so  expensive 
but  a  prudent  single  man  may  live  in  it  on  £300  per  an- 
num, and  an  extravagant  one  may  run  out  ten  thousand  in 
the  cheapest.  Had-  you  (said  I  to  him)  thought  rightly,  or 
would  have  regarded  the  advice  I  gave  you  in  all  my  letters, 
while  in  the  little  town  of  Islestein,  you  would  have  laid  up 
£150  per  annum ;  you  would  now  have  had  £750  in  your 
pocket,  which  would  have  almost  paid  your  debts,  and  such 
a  management  would  have  gained  you  the  esteem  of  the  reason- 
able part  of  the  world.  I  perceived  this  reflection,  which  he 
had  never  made  himself,  had  a  very  great  weight  with  him. 
He  would  have  excused  part  of  his  follies,  by  saying  Mr.  G. 


212  LETTERS    TO 

had  told  him  it  became  Mr.  W.'s  son  to  live  handsomely.  I 
answered,  that  whether  Mr.  G.  had  said  so  or  no,  the  good 
sense  of  the  thing  was  no  way  altered  by  it;  that  the  true 
figure  of  a  man  was  the  opinion  the  world  had  of  his  sense  and 
probity,  and  not  the  idle  expenses,  which  were  only  respected 
by  foolish  and  ignorant  people ;  that  his  case  was  particular, 
he  had  but  too  publicly  shown  his  inclination  to  vanities,  and 
the  most  becoming  part  he  could  now  act  would  be  owning 
the  ill  use  he  had  made  of  his  father's  indulgence,  and  pro- 
fessing to  endeavor  to  be  no  further  expense  to  him,  instead 
of  scandalous  complaints,  and  being  always  at  his  last  shirt 
and  last  guinea,  which  any  man  of  spirit  would  be  ashamed  to 
own.  I  prevailed  so  far  with  him  that  he  seemed  very  willing 
to  follow  this  advice ;  and  I  gave  him  a  paragraph  to  write  to 
G.,  which  I  suppose  you  will  easily  distinguish  from  the  rest  of 
his  letter.  He  asked  me  whether  you  had  settled  your  estate. 
I  made  answer  that  I  did  not  doubt  (like  all  other  wise  men) 
you  always  had  a  will'by  you ;  but  that  you  had  certainly  not 
put  any  thing  out  of  your  power  to  change.  On  that  he  began 
to  insinuate  that  if  I  could  prevail  on  you  to  settle  the  estate 
on  him,  I  might  expect  any  thing  from  his  gratitude.  I  made 
him  a  very  clear  and  positive  answer  in  these  words:  "I 
hope  your  father  will  outlive  me,  and  if  I  should  be  so  un- 
fortunate to  have  it  otherwise,  I  do  not 'believe  he  will  leave 
me  in  your  power.  But  was  I  sure  of  the  contrary,  no  in- 
terest, nor  no  necessity,  shall  ever  make  me  act  against  my 
honor  and  conscience ;  and  I  plainly  tell  you  that  I  will  never 
persuade  your  father  to  do  any  thing  for  you  till  I  think  you 
deserve  it."  He  answered  by  great  promises  of  good  behavior, 
and  economy.  He  is  highly  delighted  with  the  prospect  of 
going  into  the  army ;  and  mightily  pleased  with  the  good  re- 
ception he  had  from  Lord  Stair :  though  I  find  it  amounts  to 
no  more  than  telling  him  he  was  sorry  he  had  already  named 
his  aides-de-camp,  and  otherwise  should  have  been  glad  of  him 
in  that  post.  He  says  Lord  Carteret  has  confirmed  to  him  his 
promise  of  a  commission. 


MR.     WORTLEY.  .213 

The  rest  of  his  conversation  was  extremely  gay.  The  va- 
rious things  he  has  seen  has  given  him  a  superficial  universal 
knowledge.  He  really  knows  most  of  the  modern  languages, 
and  if  I  could  believe  him,  can  read  Arabic,  and  has  read  the 
Bible  in  Hebrew.  He  said  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  avoid 
going  back  to  Paris ;  but  he  promised  me  to  lie  but  one  night 
there,  and  to  go  to  a  town  six  posts  from  thence  on  the  Flan- 
ders road,  where  he  would  wait  your  orders,  and  go  by  the 
name  of  Mons.  du  Durand,  a  Dutch  officer ;  under  which  name 
I  saw  him.  These  are  the  most  material  passages,  and  my 
eyes  are  so  much  tired  I  can  write  no  more  at  this  time.  I 
gave  him  240  livres  for  his  journey. 


LETTER  XXII. 

Oct.  18,  1743. 
I  received  yours  of  September  21,  0.  S.,  this  day,  October 
18,  N.  S.,  and  am  always  glad  to  hear  of  your  health.  I  can 
never  be  surprised  at  any  sort  of  folly  or  extravagance  of  my 
son.  Immediately  on  leaving  me  at  Orange,  after  the  most 
solemn  promises  of  reformation,  he  went  to  Montelimart,  which 
is  but  one  day's  post  from  thence,  where  he  behaved  himself 
with  as  much  vanity  and  indiscretion  as  ever.  I  had  my  in- 
telligence from  people  who  did  not- know  my  relation  to  him  ; 
and  I  do  not  trouble  you  with  the  particulars,  thinking  it 
needless  to  expose  his  character  to  you,  who  are  so  well  ac- 
quainted with  it.  I  am  persuaded  whoever  protects  him  will 
be  very  soon  convinced  of  the  impossibility  of  his  behaving  like 
a  rational  creature. 


LETTER  XXin. 

Avignon,  Dec.  20,  1743 
I  received  yours  of  the  24th  of  November,  O.  S.,  yesterday. 
You  may,  perhaps,  hear  of  a  trifle  which  makes  a  great  noise 


214  LETTERS     TO 

iu  this  part  of  the  world,  which  is  that  I  am  building ;  but  the 
whole  expense  which  I  have  contracted  for  is  but  twenty-six 
pounds.  You  know  the  situation  of  this  town  is  on  the  meet- 
ing of  the  Rhone  and  Durance.  On  the  one  side  of  it  within 
the  walls,  was  formerly  a  fortress  built  on  a  very  high  rock ; 
they  say  it  was  destroyed  by  lightning :  one  of  the  towers  was 
left  partly  standing,  the  walls  being  a  yard  in  thickness :  this 
was  made  use  of  for  some  time  as  a  public  mill,  but  the  height 
making  it  inconvenient  for  the  carriage  of  meal,  it  has  stood 
useless  many  years.  Last  summer,  in  the  hot  evenings,  I 
walked  often  thither,  where  I  always  found  a  fresh  breeze, 
and  the  most  beautiful  land  prospect  I  ever  saw  (except 
Wharnclifte),  being  a  view  of  the  windings  of  two  great 
rivers,  and  overlooking  the  whole  country,  with  part  of  Lan- 
guedoc  and  Provence.  I  was  so  much  charmed  with  it  that  I 
said  in  company  that  if  that  old  mill  were  mine  I  would  turn 
it  into  a  belvidere ;  my  words  were  repeated,  and  the  two  con- 
suls waited  on  me  soon  after,  with  a  donation  from  the  town 
of  the  mill  and  the  land  about  it ;  I  have  added  a  dome  to  it, 
and  made  it  a  little  rotunda  for  the  aforesaid  sum.  I  have 
also  amused  myself  with  patching  up  an  inscription,  which  I 
have  communicated  to  the  archbishop,  who  is  much  delighted 
with  it ;  but  it  is  not  placed,  and  perhaps  never  will  be. 

*  Hie,  viator!  sub  Lare  parvulo, 
Maria  hie  est  condita,  hie  jacet, 
Defuncta  humani  laboris 
Sorte,  supervacuaque  vita. 
Nou  indecora  pauperie  nitens, 
Et  non  inerti  nobilis  otio, 
Vanoque  dilectis  popello 
Divitiis  animosus  hostis. 
Possis  et  iliam  dicere  mortuam, 
En  terra  jam  nunc  quantula  sufficit ! 

*  Lady  Mary  had  the  merit  of  applying  Cowley's  ■"  Epitaphium 
vivi  auctoris,"  published  in  his  works,  of  which  this  is  a  copy,  with 
grammatical  alterations  where  necessary. 


MR.     WORTLEY.  215 

Exempta  sit  curls,  viator, 

Terra  sit  ilia  levis,  precare! 

Hie  sparge  flores,  sparge  breves  rosas: 

Nam  vita  gaudet  mortua  floribus: 

Herbisque  ocloratis  corona 

Vatis  adhuc  cinerem.  caleatem. 


LETTER  XXIV. 

Avignon  Feb.  17,  1743-4. 
I  am  sorry  you  have  given  yourself  so  much  trouble  about 
the  inscription.  I  find  I  expressed  myself  ill,  if  you  under- 
stood by  my  letter  that  it  was  already  placed ;  I  never  intended 
it  without  your  approbation,  and  then  would  have  put  it  in 
the  inside  of  the  dome.  The  word  "  pauperie"  is  meant,  as  is 
shown  by  the  whole  line, 

Non  indecora  pauperie  nitens, 

to  be  a  life  rather  distant  from  ostentation  than  in  poverty  ; 
and  which  very  well  answers  to  my  way  of  living,  which, 
though  decent,  is  far  from  the  show  which  many  families 
make  here. 


LETTER  XXV. 

Avignon,  June  8,  1745. 

I  have  this  day  yours  of  the  8th  of  April,  O.  S.,  and  at  the 
same  time  one  from  Lady  Oxford,  who  has  not  received  (as 
she  says)  any  from  me  since  November,  though  I  have  written 
several  times. 

I  perfectly  remember  carrying  back  the  manuscript  you 
mention,  and  delivering  it  to  Lord  Oxford.  I  never  failed  re- 
turning to  himself  all  the  books  he  lent  me.  It  is  true,  I 
showed  it  to  the  Duchess  of  Montagu,  but  we  read  it  together, 
and  I  did  not  even  leave  it  with  her.     I  am  not  surprised  that 


216  LETTERS     TO 

in  that  vast  quantity  of  manuscripts  some  should  be  lost  or 
mislaid,  particularly  knowing  Lord  Oxford  to  be  careless  of 
them,  easily  lending,  and  as  easily  forgetting  he  had  done  it. 
I  remember  I  carried  him  once  one  finely  illuminated,  that, 
when  I  delivered,  he  did  not  recollect  he  had  lent  to  me, 
though  it  was  but  a  few  days  before.  Wherever  this  is,  I  think 
you  need  be  in  no  pain  about  it.  The  verses  are  too  bad  to 
be  printed,  excepting  from  malice,  and  since  the  death  of 
Pope  I  know  nobody  that  is  an  enemy  to  either  of  us.  I  will 
write  to  my  son  the  first  opportunity  I  have  of  doing  it.  By 
the  post  it  is  impossible  at  this  time.  I  have  seen  the  French 
list  of  the  dead  and  wounded,  in  which  he  is  not  mentioned : 
so  that  I  suppose  he  has  escaped.  All  letters,  even  directed  to 
Holland,  are  opened ;  and  I  believe  those  to  the  army  would 
be  stopped. 

I  know  so  little  of  English  affairs,  I  am  surprised  to  hear 
uord  Granville*  has  lost  his  power. 


LETTER  XXVI. 


Brescia,  Aug.  25,  K  S.,  1746. 
You  will  be  surprised  at  the  date  of  this  letter,  but  Avignon 
has  been  long  disagreeable  to  me  on  many  accounts,  and  now 
more  than  ever,  from  the  increase  of  Scotch  and  Irish  rebels, 
that  chose  it  for  their  refuge,  and  are  so  highly  protected  by 
the  Vice-legate  that  it  is  impossible  to  go  into  any  company 
without  hearing  a  conversation  that  is  improper  to  be  listened 
to,  and  dangerous  to  contradict.  The  war  with  France  hin- 
dered my  settling  there  for  reasons  I  have  already  told  you  ; 
and  the  difficulty  of  passing  into  Italy  confined  me,  though  I 

*  John  Carteret,  Earl  Granville,  was  Secretary  of  State  in  1720, 
Lord- lieutenant  of  Ireland  from  1724  to  1730;  in  1742  Secretary  of 
State,  which  office  he  resigned  in  1744.  He  was  a  third  time  appointed 
Secretary  of  State  in  February  1746,  and  removed  on  the  14th  of  the 
same  month,  to  which  circumstance  this  letter  alludes. 


MR.     WORTLEY.  217 

was  always  watching   an  opportunity  of   returning  thither. 
Fortune  at  length  presented  rne  one. 

I  believe  I  wrote  you  word,  when  I  was  at  Venice,  that  I 
saw  there  the  Count  of  Wacherbarth,  who  was  governor  to 
the  Prince  of  Saxony,  and  is  a  favorite  of  the  King  of  Poland, 
and  the  many  civilities  I  received  from  him,  as  an  old  friend 
of  his  mother's.  About  a  month  since,  a  gentleman  of  the 
Bedchamber  of  the  prince,  who  is  a  man  of  the  first  quality 
in  this  province,  I  believe  charged  with  some  private  commis- 
sion from  the  Polish  court,  brought  me  a  letter  of  recommend- 
ation from  Count  Wacherbarth,  which  engaged  ms  to  show 
him  what  civilities  lay  in  my  power.  In  conversation  I  la- 
mented to  him  the  impossibility  of  my  attempting  a  journey 
to  Italy  where  he  was  going.  He  offered  me  his  protection, 
and  represented  to  me  that  if  I  would  permit  him  to  wait  on 
me,  I  might  pass  under  the  notion  of  a  Venetian  lady.  In 
short,  I  ventured  upon  it,  which  has  succeeded  very  well, 
though  I  met  with  more  impediments  in  my  journey  than  I 
expected.  We  went  by  sea  to  Genoa,  where  I  made  a  very 
short  stay,  and  saw  nobody,  having  no  passport  from  that 
State,  and  fearing  to  be  stopped  if  I  were  known.  We  took 
post-chaise  from  thence  the  16th  of  this  month,  and  were 
very  much  surprised  to  meet,  on- the  Briletta,  the  baggage  of 
the  Spanish  army,  with  a  prodigious  number  of  sick  and  wound- 
ed soldiers  and  officers,  who  marched  in  a  very  great  hurry. 

The  Count  of  Palazzo  ordered  his  servants  to  say  we  were 
in  haste  for  the  service  of  Don  Philip,  and  without  further  ex- 
amination they  gave  us  place  every  where  :  notwithstanding 
which  the  multitude  of  carriages  and  loaded  mules  which  we 
met  in  these  narrow  roads  made  it  impossible  for  us  to  reach 
Scravalli  till  it  was  near  night.  Our  surprise  was  great  to  find, 
coming  out  of  that  town,  a  large  body  of  troops  surrounding  a 
body  of  guards,  in  the  midst  of  which  was  Don  Philip  iu 
person,  going  a  very  round  trot,  looking  down,  and  pale  as 
ashes.  The  army  was  in  too  much  confusion  to  take  notice  of 
us,  and  the  night  favoring  us,  we  got  into  the  town,  but  when 

10 


218  LETTERS     TO 

we  came  there,  it  was  impossible  to  find  any  lodging,  all  the 
inns  being  filled  with  wounded  Spaniards.  The  Count  went 
to  the  governor,  and  asked  a  chamber  for  a  Venetian  lady, 
which  he  granted  very  readily ;  but  there  was  nothing  in  it 
but  the  bare  walls,  and  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after 
the  whole  house  was  empty  both  of  furniture  and  people,  the 
governor  flying  into  the  citadel,  and  carrying  with  him  all  his 
goods  and  family.  We  were  forced  to  pass  the  night  without 
beds,  or  supper.  About  day-break  the  victorious  Germans  en- 
tered the  town.  The  Count  went  to  wait  on  the  generals,  to 
whom,  I  believe  he  had  a  commission.  He  told  them  my 
name,  and  there  was  no  sort  of  honor  or  civility  they  did  not 
pay  me.  They  immediately  ordered  me  a  guard  of  hussars 
(which  was  very  necessary  in  the  present  disorder),  and  sent 
me  refreshments  of  all  kinds.  Next  day  I  was  visited  by  the 
Prince  of  Baden  Dourlach,  the  Prince  Louestein,  and  all  the 
principal  officers,  with  whom  I  passed  for  a  heroine,  show- 
ing no  uneasiness  though  the  cannon  of  the  citadel  (where  was 
a  Spanish  garrison)  played  very  briskly.  I  was  forced  to  stay 
there  two  days  for  want  of  post-horses,  the  post-master  having 
fled,  with  all  his  servants,  and  the  Spaniards  having  levied  all 
the  horses  they  could  find.  At  length  I  set  out  from  thence  the 
19th  instant,  with  a  strong  escort  of  hussars,  meeting  with  no 
further  accident  on  the  road,  except  at  the  little  town  of  Vo- 
gherra,  where  they  refused  post-horses,  till  the  hussars  drew 
their  sabers.  The  30th  I  arrived  safe  here.  It  is  a  very  pretty 
place,  where  I  intend  to  repose  myself  at  least  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  summer.  This  journey  has  been  very  expens- 
ive ;  but  I  am  very  glad  I  have  made  it.  I  am  now  in  a  neutral 
country,  under  the  protection  of  Venice.  The  Doge  is  our  old 
friend  Grimani,  and  I  do  not  doubt  meeting  with  all  sort  of 
civility.  When  I  set  out  I  had  so  bad  a  fluxion  on  my  eyes, 
I  was  really  afraid  of  losing  them  :  they  are  now  quite  recov- 
ered, and  my  health  better  than  it  has  been  for  some  time.  I 
hope  yours  continues  good,  and  that  you  will  always  take  care 
of  it.     Direct  for  me  at  Brescia  by  way  of  Venice. 


MR.    WORTLEY.  219 


LETTER  XXVII. 

Brescia,  September  24,  N.  S.,  1746. 

I  can  no  longer  resist  the  desire  I  have  to  know  what  is  be- 
come of .*     I  have  long  suppressed  it  from  a  belief  that 

if  there  was  any  thing  of  good  to  be  told,  you  would  not  fail 
to  give  me  the  pleasure  of  hearing  it.  I  find  it  now  grows  so 
much  upon  me,  that  whatever  I  am  to  know,  I  think  it  would 
be  easier  for  me  to  support  than  the  anxiety  I  suffer  from  my 
doubts.  I  beg  to  be  informed,  and  prepare  myself  for  the 
worst,  with  all  the  philosophy  I  have.  At  my  time  of  life  I 
ought  to  be  detached  from  a  world  which  I  am  soon  to  leave ; 
to  be  totally  so  is  a  vain  endeavor,  and  perhaps  there  is  vanity 
in  the  endeavor :  while  we  are  human  we  must  submit  to 
human  infirmities,  and  sutler  them  in  mind  as  well  as  body. 
All  that  reflection  and  expeiience  can  do  is  to  mitigate,  we  can 
never  extinguish,  our  passions.  I  call  by  that  name  every  sen- 
timent that  is  not  founded  upon  reason,  and  own  I  can  not  just- 
ify to  mine  the  concern  I  feel  for  one  who  never  gave  me  any 
view  of  satisfaction. 

This  is  too  melancholy  a  subject  to  dwell  upon.  You  com- 
pliment me  on  the  continuation  of  my  spirits :  'tis  true  I  try  to 
maintain  them  by  every  act  I  can,  being  sensible  of  the  terrible 
consequences  of  losing  them.  Young  people  are  too  apt  to  let 
them  sink  on  any  disappointment.  I  have  wrote  to  my  daugh- 
ter all  the  considerations  I  could  think  to  lessen  her  affliction. 


LETTER  XXVIII. 

Louvere, ,  1747. 

Yours  of  the  1st  of  December,  0.  S.,  came  to  me  this  morn- 
ing, Feb.  2,  N.  S.  I  hope  your  health  continues  good,  since 
you  say  nothing  to  the  contrary. 

*  Her  son. 


220  LETTERS     TO 

The  new  opera  at  Brescia,  I  hear,  is  much  applauded,  and  I 
intend  to  see  it  before  the  end  of  the  carnival.  The  people  of 
this  province  are  much  at  their  ease  during  the  miseiies  the 
war  occasions  their  neighbors,  and  employ  all  their  time  in 
diversions. 

We  have  hitherto  had  no  winter,  to  the  great  sorrow  of  the 
people  here,  who  are  in  fear  of  wanting  ice  in  the  summer, 
which  is  as  necessary  as  bread.  They  also  attribute  a  malignant 
fever,  which  has  carried  off  great  numbers  in  the  neighboring 
towns,  to  the  uncommon  warmth  of  the  air.  It  has  not  infected 
this  village,  which  they  say  has  ever  been  free  from  any  con- 
tagious distemper.  The  method  of  treating  the  physician  here, 
I  think,  should  be  the  same  every  where  :  they  make  it  his  in- 
terest that  the  whole  parish  should  be  in  good  health,  giving 
him  a  stated  pension,  which  is  collected  by  a  tax  on  every 
house,  on  condition  that  he  neither  demands  any  fees,  nor  ever 
refuses  a  visit  either  to  rich  or  poor.  This  last  article  would 
be  very  hard,  if  we  had  as  many  vaporish  ladies  as  in  England ; 
but  those  imaginary  ills  are  entirely  unknown  among  us,  and 
the  eager  pursuit  after  every  new  piece  of  quackery  that  is  in- 
troduced. I  can  not  help  thinking  that  there  is  a  fund  of 
credulity  in  mankind  that  must  be  employed  somewhere,  and 
the  money  formerly  given  to  the  monks  for  the  health  of  the 
soul,  is  now  thrown  to  doctors  for  the  health  of  the  body,  and 
generally  with  as  little  prospect  of  success. 


LETTER  XXIX. 

Louvere,  July  11,  N.  S.,  1748. 
Yours  of  June  7,  0.  S.,  came  to  my  hands  but  yesterday. 
I  am  very  much  vexed  and  surprised  at  the  miscarriage  of 
my  letters.  I  have  never  failed  answering  both  yours  and 
my  daughter's  the  very  next  post  after  I  received  them.  1 
began  to  suspect  my  servants  put  the  franking  money  in  their 
pockets,   and  threw  away  the  letters.     I  have  been  in  the 


MR.     WORTLEY.  221 

country  this  year  and  a  half,  though  I  continued  to  date  from 
Brescia,  as  the  place  to  which  I  would  have  directed,  being, 
though  not  the  nearest,  the  safest  post-town.  I  send  all  my 
packets  thither,  and  will  for  the  future  inclose  them  to  a 
banker,  who,  I  hope,  will  be  more  careful  in  forwarding 
them. 

I  am  glad  my  daughter's  conduct  satisfies  the  opinion  I  al- 
ways had  of  her  understanding.  I  do  not  wonder  at  her  be- 
ing well  received  in  sets  of  company  different  from  one  another, 
having  myself  preserved  a  long  intimacy  with  the  Duchesses 
of  Marlborough  and  Montagu,  though  they  were  at  open  war, 
and  perpetually  talking  of  their  complaints.  I  believe  they 
were  both  sensible  I  never  betrayed  either,  each  of  them  giv- 
ing me  the  strongest  proofs  of  confidence  in  the  last  conversa- 
tions I  had  with  them,  which  were  the  last  I  had  in  England. 
What  I  think  extraordinary,  is  my  daughter's  continuing  so 
many  years  agreeable  to  Lord  Bute,  Mr.  Mackensie  telling  me, 
the  last  time  I  saw  him,  that  his  brother  frequently  said  among 
his  companions  that  he  was  still  as  much  in  love  with  his 
wife  as  before  he  married  her.  If  the  Princess's  favor  lasts, 
it  may  be  of  use  to  her  family.  I  have  often  been  dubious  if 
the  seeming  indifference  of  her  highness's  behavior  was  owing 
to  very  good  sense,  or  great  insensibility.  Should  it  be  the 
first,  she  will  get  the  better  of  all  her  rivals,  and  probably  one 
day  have  a  large  share  of  power. 

I  am  very  much  pleased  that  you  accustom  yourself  to  tea, 
being  persuaded  that  the  moderate  use  of  it  is  generally 
wholesome.  I  have  planted  a  great  deal  in  my  garden, 
which  is  a  fashion  lately  introduced  in  this  country,  and  has 
succeeded  very  well.  I  can  not  say  it  is  as  strong  as  the  In- 
dian, but  it  has  the  advantage  of  being  fresher,  and,  at  least, 
unmixed. 

I  thank  you  for  the  copies  of  Sir  Charles  Hanbury's  poetry, 
which  extremely  entertained  me.  I  find  tar-water  has  suc- 
ceeded to  Ward's  drop ;  it  is  possible  by  this  time  that  some 
other  quackery  has  taken  the  place  of  that ;  the  English  are 


222  LETTERS     TO 

easier  than  any  other  nation  infatuated  by  the  prospect  of  uni- 
versal medicines  ;  nor  is  there  any  country  in  the  world  where 
the  doctors  raise  such  immense  fortunes.  I  attribute  it  to  the 
fund  of  credulity  which  is  in  all  mankind.  "We  have  no 
longer  faith  in  miracles  and  relics,  and,  therefore,  with  the 
same  fury,  run  after  recipes  and  physicians.  The-  same  money 
which,  three  hundred  years  ago,  was  given  for  the  health  of 
the  soul,  is  now  given  for  the  health  of  the  body,  and  by  the 
same  sort  of  people,  women  and  half-witted  men.  In  the 
country  where  they  have  shrines  and  images,  quacks  are  de- 
spised, and  monks  and  confessors  find  their  account  in  man- 
aging the  fear  and  hope  which  rule  the  actions  of  the  multi- 
tude. 


LETTER  XXX. 


Padua,  September  16,  1748. 
I  am  informed  that  your  health  and  sight  are  perfectly 
good,  which  gives  me  courage  to  trouble  you  with  a  letter  of 
congratulation  on  a  blessing  that  is  equal  to  us  both  :  I  mean 
the  great  and  good  character  I  hear  from  every  body  of  Lord 
Bute.  It  is  a  satisfaction  I  never  hoped  to  have — a  son  that 
does  honor  to  his  family.  I  am  persuaded  you  are  of  my 
opinion,  and  had  rather  be  related  to  him  than  to  any  silly 
duke  in  Christendom.  Indeed,  money  (however  considerable 
the  sum)  in  the  hands  of  a  fool,  is  as  useless  as  if  presented 
to  a  monkey,  and  will  as  surely  be  scattered  in  the  street.  I 
need  not  quote  examples.  My  daughter  is  also  generally  es- 
teemed, and  I  can  not  help  communicating  to  you  the  pleasure 
I  receive  whenever  I  hear  her  commended.  I  am  afraid  my 
letter  may  be  too  long.  This  subject  runs  away  with  me.  I 
wish  you  many  years'  continuance  of  the  health  and  spirits 
I  am  told  you  now  e'tjov. 


MB.     WORTLET.  223 

LETTER  XXXI. 

Venice,  Dec.  25,  N.  S.,  1748. 

I  hope  I  have  now  regulated  our  correspondence  in  a  man- 
ner more  safe  than  by  Holland.  I  have  sent  a  large  collection 
of  letters  to  you  and  my  daughter,  which  have  all  miscarried ; 
neither  have  I  one  line  from  either  for  some  months. 

I  was  surprised  not  many  days  ago  by  a  very  extraordinary 
visit :  it  was  from  the  Duchess  of  Guastalla,  who  you  know  is 
a  princess  of  the  house  d'Armstadt,  and  reported  to  be  near 
marriage  with  the  King  of  Sardinia.  I  confess  it  was  an 
honor  I  could  easily  have  spared,  she  coming  attended  with  the 
greatest  part  of  her  court :  her  grand-master,  who  is  brother 
to  Cardinal  Valenti,  the  first  lady  of  her  bed-chamber,  four 
pages,  and  a  long  et  cetera  of  inferior  servants,  beside  her 
guards.  She  entered  with  an  easy  French  air,  and  told  me, 
since  I  would  not  oblige  her  by  coming  to  her  court,  she  was 
resolved  to  come  to  me,  and  eat  a  salad  of  my  raising,  having 
heard  much  fame  of  my  gardening.  You  may  imagine  I  gave 
her  as  good  a  supper  as  I  could.  She  was  (or  seemed  to  be) 
extremely  pleased  with  an  English  sack-posset  of  my  ordering. 
I  owned  to  her  fairly  that  my  house  was  much  at  her  service ; 
but  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  find  beds  for  all  her  suite.  She 
said  she  intended  to  return  when  the  moon  rose,  which  was  an 
hour  after  midnight.  In  the  mean  time  I  sent  for  the  violins  to 
entertain  her  attendants,  who  were  very  well  pleased  to  dance) 
while  she  and  her  grand-master  and  I  played  at  picquet.  She 
pressed  me  extremely  to  return  with  her  to  her  jointure-house, 
where  she  now  resides  (all  the  furniture  of  Guastalla  being 
sold).  I  excused  myself  on  not  daring  to  venture  in  the  cold 
night  fifteen  miles,  but  promised  I  would  not  fail  to  pay  her 
my  acknowledgments  for  the  great  honor  her  highness  had 
done  me,  in  a  very  short  time,  and  we  parted  very  good  fiiends. 
She  said  she  intended  this  spring  to  retire  into  her  native 
country.  I  did  not  take  the  liberty  of  mentioning  to  her  the 
report  of  her  being  in  treaty  with  the  King  of  Sardinia,  though 


224  LETTERS     TO 

it  has  been  in  the  newspaper  of  Mantua ;  but  I  found  an  op- 
portunity of  hinting  it  to  Signor  Gonzago,  her  grand-master, 
who  told  me  the  duchess  would  not  have  been  pleased  to  talk 
of  it,  since,  perhaps,  there  was  nothing  in  it  more  than  a  friend- 
ship that  had  long  been  between  them,  and  since  her  widow- 
hood the  king  sends  her  an  express  every  day. 

I  believe  you  '11  wish  this  long  story  much  shorter ;  but  I 
think  you  seemed  to  desire  me  to  lengthen  my  letters,  and  I 
can  have  no  greater  pleasure  than  endeavoring  to  amuse  you. 


LETTER  XXXII. 


Gotolengo,  April  24,  1749. 
C.  Mutius  Sext :  F. 
P.  Papilius,  M.  F. 
Q.  Mutius  P.  P. 
M.  Cornelius  P.  F. 
1 1 1 1  vir.  Turrim  Ex  D  D. 
Ad  augendam  Locavere. 
Idemque  Probavere. 

This  is  a  very  fair  inscription,  in  large  characters,  on  a  large 
stone  found  in  the  pavement  of  the  old  church,  and  makes  now 
a  part  of  the  wall  of  the  new  one,  which  is  now  building.  The 
people  here,  who  are  as  ignorant  as  their  oxen,  and  live  like 
them  on  the  product  of  their  land,  without  any  curiosity  for 
the  history  of  it,  would  infer  from  thence  that  this  town  is  of 
Roman  foundation,  though  the  walls,  which  are  yet  the  greatest 
part  standing  (only  the  towers  and  battlements  demolished), 
are  very  plainly  Gothic,  and  not  one  brick  to  be  found  any 
where  of  Roman  fabric,  which  is  very  easily  distinguished.  I 
can  easily  believe  their  tradition,  that  the  old  church,  which 
was  pulled  down  two  years  ago,  being  ready  to  drop,  was  a 
pagan  temple,  and  do  not  doubt  it  was  a  considerable  town, 
founded  by  the  Goths,  when  they  overran  Italy.  The  fortifi- 
cations were  strong  for  that  age :  the  ditch  still  remaining 


MR.     WORTLEY.  225 

within  the  walls  being  very  broad  and  deep,  in  which  ran  the 
little  river  that  is  now  before  my  house,  and  the  moat  turned 
'nto  gardens  for  the  use  of  the  town,  the  name  of  which  being 
Gotolengo,  is  a  confirmation  of  my  conjecture.  The  castle, 
which  certainly  stood  on  the  spot  where  my  house  does,  being 
on  an  eminence  in  the  midst  of  the  town,  was  probably  de- 
stroyed by  fire.  When  I  ordered  the  court  to  be  leveled, 
which  was  grown  uneven  by  long  neglect,  there  was  found  such 
quantities  of  burnt  bricks,  that  plainly  showed  the  remains  of 
a  considerable  fire ;  but  whether  by  the  enemy,  or  accidental, 
I  could  get  no  information.  They  have  no  records,  or  parish 
books,  beyond  the  time  of  their  coming  under  the  Venetian 
dominion,  which  is  not  much  above  three  hundred  years  ago, 
at  which  time  they  were,  as  they  now  are,  a  large  village,  being 
two  miles  in  circuit,  and  contains  at  present  (as  the  curate  told 
me)  two  thousand  communicants.  The  ladies  of  this  neigh- 
borhood that  had  given  themselves  the  trouble  and  expense 
of  going  to  see  Don  Philip's  entry  into  Parma,  are  returned, 
according  to  the  French  saying,  avec  un  pied  de  nez.  As  they 
had  none  of  them  ever  seen  a  court  before,  they  had  figured  to 
themselves  prodigious  scenes  of  gallantry  and  magnificence. 

If  I  did  not  write  by  the  post,  I  would  tell  you  several  par- 
ticulars, that  I  believe  would  make  you  laugh.  He  is  retired 
into  the  country  till  the  arrival  of  his  princess,  who  is  expected 
in  May  next.  I  take  the  liberty  of  inclosing  this  to  Lord  Bute, 
not  knowing  where  to  direct  to  him  in  London. 


LETTER  XXXHI. 

Louvere,  Oct.  19,  N.  S.,  1753. 
I  think  I  know  why  our  correspondence  is  so  miserably 
interrupted,  and  so  many  letters  lost  to  and  from  England. 

An  old  priest  made  me  a  visit  as  I  was  folding  my  last 
packet  to  my  daughter.     Observing  it  to  be  large,  he  told  me 
I  had  done  a  great  deal  of  business  that  morning.     I  made 
10* 


226  LETTERS     TO 

answer  that  I  had  done  no  business  at  all ;  I  had  only  wrote 
to  my  daughter  on  family  affairs,  or  such  trifles  as  make  up 
women's  conversation.  He  said  gravely,  "People  like  your 
excellenza  do  not  write  long  letters  upon  trifles."  I  assured 
him  that  if  he  understood  English  I  would  let  him  read  my 
letter.  He  replied,  with  a  mysterious  smile — "  If  I  did  under- 
stand English,  I  should  not  understand  what  you  have  written, 
except  you  would  give  me  the  key,  which  I  durst  not  presume 
to  ask."  "What  key?"  said  I,  staring — "there  is  not  one 
cipher  besides  the  date."  He  answered — "  Ciphers  were  only 
used  by  novices  in  politics,  and  it  was  very  easy  to  write  intel- 
ligibly, under  feigned  names  of  persons  and  places,  to  a  corre- 
spondent, in  such  a  manner  as  should  be  almost  impossible  to 
be  understood  by  any  body  else." 

Thus  I  suppose  my  innocent  epistles  are  severely  scrutinized : 
and  when  I  talk  of  my  grand-children,  they  are  fancied  to  rep- 
resent all  the  potentates  of  Europe.  This  is  very  provoking. 
I  confess  there  are  good  reasons  for  extraordinary  caution  at 
this  juncture ;  but  it  is  very  hard  I  can  not  pass  for  being  as 
insignificant  as  I  really  am. 

I  heartily  congratulate  you  on  the  recovery  of  your  sight. 
It  is  a  blessing  I  prefer  to  life,  and  will  seek  for  glasses  when- 
ever I  am  in  a  place  where  they  are  sold. 


LETTER  XXXIV. 

Louvere,  Dec.  19,  N.  S.,  1754. 
I  received  yours  of  October  6,  yesterday,  which  gave  me 
great  pleasure.  I  am  flattered  by  finding  that  our  sentiments 
are  the  same  in  regard  to  Lord  Bolingbroke's  writings,  as  you 
will  see  more  clearly,  if  you  ever  have  the  long  letter  I  have 
wTrote  to  you  on  that  subject.  I  believe  he  never  read  Horace, 
or  any  other  author,  with  a  design  of  instructing  himself,  think- 
ing he  was  born  to  give  precepts,  and  not  to  follow  them  :  at 
least  if  he  was  not  mad  enough  to  have  this  opinion,  he  en- 
deavored to  impose  it  on  the  rest  of  the  world.    All  his  works, 


MR.     WORT  LEY.  227 

b«jing  well  considered,  are  little  more  than  a  panegyric  on  his 
own  universal  genius ;  many  of  his  pretensions  are  as  preposter- 
ously inconsistent  as  if  Sir  Isaac  Newton  had  aimed  at  being  a 
critic  in  fashions,  and  wrote  for  the  information  of  tailors  and 
mantua  makers.  I  am  of  opinion  that  he  never  looked  into 
half  the  authors  he  quotes,  and  am  much  mistaken  if  he  is  not 
obliged  to  M.  Bayle  for  the  generality  of  his  criticisms ;  for 
which  reason  he  affects  to  despise  him,  that  he  may  steal  from 
him  with  the  less  suspicion.  A  diffuse  style  (though  admired 
as  florid  by  all  half-witted  readers)  is  commonly  obscure,  and 
always  trifling.  Horace  has  told  us  that  where  words  abound, 
sense  is  thinly  spread ;  as  trees  overcharged  with  leaves  bear 
little  fruit. 

You  do  not  mention  Lord  Orrery,  or  perhaps  would  not 
throw  away  time  in  perusing  that  extraordinary  work,  ad- 
dressed to  a  son,  whom  he  educates  with  an  intention  that  he 
should  be  a  first  minister,  and  promises  to  pray  to  God  for  him 
if  ever  he  plays  the  knave  in  that  station.  I  perceive  that  he 
has  already  been  honored  with  five  editions.  I  wish  that  en- 
couragement may  prevail  with  him  to  give  the  world  more 
memoirs.  I  am  resolved  to  read  them  all,  though  they  should 
multiply  to  as  many  tomes  as  Erasmus. 

Here  are  no  newspapers  to  be  had  but  those  printed  under 
this  government;  consequently  I  never  learn  the  births  or 
deaths  of  private  persons.  I  was  ignorant  of  that  of  my  poor 
friend  the  Duchess  of  Bolton,  when  my  daughter's  last  letter 
told  me  the  death  of  the  duke,*  and  the  jointure  he  has  left 
his  second  duchess. 

I  am  very  glad  your  health  is  so  good.  May  that  and  every 
other  blessing  be  ever  yours. 

*  He  died  August  26,  1754.  His  second  wife  was  Lavinia  Fenton, 
the  celebrated  Polly  Peachum  in  Gay's  Beggar's  Opera,  whom  he  mar- 
ried in  1751. 


228  LETTERS     TO 

LETTER  XXXV. 

Venice,  December  11,  1758. 
,  I  assure  you  I  live  as  agreeably  here  as  any  stranger  in  mj  X. 
circumstances  possibly  can  do ;  and,  indeed,  a  repetition  of 
all  the  civilities  I  have  received  here  would  sound  more  like 
vanity  than  truth,  I  am  sensible  that  I  owe  a  great  part  of 
them  to  Grimani,  who  is  in  the  first  esteem  and  authority  in 
this  republic ;  and,  as  he  takes  pains  to  appear  my  friend,  his 
relations  and  allies,  of  both  sexes  (who  are  the  most  consider- 
able people  here),  endeavor  to  oblige  me  in  all  sorts  of  ways. 
The  carnival  is  expected  to  be  more  brilliant  than  common, 
from  the  great  concourse  of  noble  strangers.  The  Princess 
of  Holstein  and  the  Prince  of  Wol  fen  buttle  (nephew  of  the 
empress)  are  already  arrived,  and  the  Electoral  Prince  of  Sax- 
ony is  expected  next  week.  If  my  age  and  humor  would  per- 
mit me  much  pleasure  in  public  amusements,  here  are  a  great 
variety  of  them.     I  take  as  little  share  of  them  .as  I  can. 

Frui  paratis  et  valido  rnihi 
Latoe  dories,  et  pre  cor  integra 
Cum  mente,  nee  turpem  senectam 
Degere,  nee  cithara  carentem. 

Horace,  Odes,  L.  1,  0.  31. 

You  see  I  have  got  a  Horace,  which  is  borrowed  of  the 
consul,  who  is  a  good  scholar ;  but  I  am  very  impatient  for 
my  own  books.  I  could  wish  you  to  send  me  the  cushions 
that  were  used  at  Constantinople ;  they  would  be  very  useful 

to  me  here.     As  to  what  regards ,  I  have  long  since  fixed 

my  opinion  concerning  him.  Indeed,  I  am  not  insensible  of 
the  misfortune,  but  I  look  upon  it  as  the  loss  of  a  limb,  which 
should  cease  to  give  solicitude  by  being  irretrievable. 

Lord  Brudenel*  is  here,  and  appears  to  be  in  an  extremely 
bad  state  of  health,  and  unwilling  to  return  to  England,  being 

*  John  Lord  Brudenel,  eldest  son  of  George  Earl  of  Cardigan. 


MR.     WORTLET.  229 

apprehensive  of  the  air.  I  fear  his  friends  will  have  the  af- 
fliction of  losing  him,  as  he  seems  highly  disposed,  if  not  ac- 
tually fallen  into  a  consumption.  I  have  had  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Mackensie,  who  is  excessively  liked  at  Turin.  I  can  not 
contrive  to  go  there,  but  heartily  wish  I  could  contrive  to  see 
him  and  Lady  Betty  in  some  other  place.  I  am  determined, 
on  account  of  my  health,  to  take  some  little  jaunt  next 
spring  ;  perhaps  on  the  side  of  the  Tyrol,  which  I  have  never 
seen,  but  hear  it  is  an  exceedingly  fine  country.  To  say  truth, 
I  am  tempted  by  the  letters  of  Lady  F.  Stewart  and  Sir  James. 
I  never  knew  people  more  to  my  taste.  They  reside  in  a  lit- 
tle town,  only  two  days'  journey  from  Padoua,  where  it  will 
be  asy  to  find  a  lodging  for  the  summer  months,  and  I  am 
sure  of  being  pleased  in  their  company.  I  have  found,  where- 
ever  I  have  traveled,  that  the  pleasantest  spots  of  ground 
have  been  in  the  valleys,  which  are  encompassed  with  high 
mountains. 


LETTER  XXXVI. 


Venice,  February  24,  1759. 

I  return  you  many  thanks  for  yours  of  the  5th  instant.  I 
never  have  received  any  in  so  short  a  time  from  England.  I 
am  very  sincerely,  heartily,  glad  to  hear  of  your  health,  but 
will  not  trouble  you  with  reading  a  long  letter,  which  may 
be  uneasy  to  you,  when  I  write  so  often  and  fully  to  our 
daughter.  I  have  not  heard  from  her  for  some  time  ;  I  hope 
her  silence  is  not  occasioned  by  any  indisposition.  I  hear  her 
and  her  family  praised  very  much  by  every  Briton  that  ar- 
rives here.  I  need  not  say  what  comfort  I  receive  from  it.  It 
is  now  finer  weather  than  I  ever  saw  in  the  season  (Naples  ex- 
cepted) :  the  sun  shines  with  as  much  warmth  as  in  May.  I 
walk  in  my  little  garden  every  morning.  I  hope  ydu  do  the 
same  at  Bath. 

The  carnival  is  now  over,  and  we  have  no  more  ridotto  or 


230  LETTERS     OP 

theatrical  amusements.  Diversions  have  taken  a  more  private, 
perhaps  a  more  agreeable,  turn  here.  It  is  the  fashion  to 
have  little  houses  of  retreat,  where  the  lady  goes  every  even- 
ing, at  seven  or  eight  o'clock,  and  is  visited  by  all  her  inti- 
mates of  both  sexes,  which  commonly  amount  to  seventy  or 
eighty  persons,  where  they  have  play,  concerts  of  music,  some- 
times dancing,  and  always  a  handsome  collation.  I  believe 
you  will  think  these  little  assemblies  very  pleasing ;  they 
really  are  so.  Whoever  is  well  acquainted  with  Venice  must 
own  that  it  is  the  center  of  pleasure  ;  not  so  noisy,  and,  in  my 
opinion,  more  refined  than  Paris. 


LETTER  XXXVE* 


TO    LADY   MARY    PIERREPONT. 

Saturday  morning. — IT  12. 
Every  time  you  see  me,  gives  me  a  fresh  proof  of  your  not 
caring  for  me :  yet  I  beg  you  will  meet  me  once  more.  How 
could  you  pay  me  that  great  compliment  of  your  loving  the 
country  for  life,  when  you  would  not  stay  with  me  a  few  min- 
utes longer  ?  Who  is  the  happy  man  you  went  to  ?  I  agree 
with  you,  I  am  often  so  dull,  I  can  not  explain  my  meaning ; 
but  will  not  own  that  the  expression  was  so  very  obscure,  when 
I  said  if  I  had  you,  I  should  act  against  my  opinion.  Why 
need  I  add,  I  see  what  is  best  for  me,  I  condemn  what  I  do, 
and  yet  I  fear  I  must  do  it.     If  you  can't  find  it  out,  that 

*  It  was  my  intention  to  include  the  two  following  letters  in  ths 
Biography  of  Lady  Mary,  as  giving  the  clearest  notion  of  the  idiosyn 
crasies  of  the  lovers — those  peculiarities  that  may  be  traced  in  their  in- 
tercourse as  husband  and  wife— which  can  now  be  obtained.  For  thi9 
reason  the  letters  were  omitted  in  the  first  part  of  the  volume.  After 
that  was  stereotyped,  I  found  the  Biographical  Sketch  would  be  too 
long  for  the  space  reserved ;  therefore  these  letters  are  placed  here  to 
draw  more  particular  attention.  The  reader  can  easily  find  their  proper 
place  in  the  first  correspondence,  between  the  Letters  VIII.  and  IX., 
page  31. — Am.  Ed. 


COURTSHIP.  231 

you  are  going  to  be  unhappy,  ask  your  sister,  who  agrees  with 
you  in  every  thing  else,  and  she  will  convince  you  of  your 
rashness  in  this.  She  knows  you  don't  care  for  me,  and  that 
you  will  like  me  less  and  less  every  year  ;  perhaps  every  day 
of  your  life.  You  may,  with  a  little  care,  please  another  as 
well,  and  make  him  less  timorous.  It  is  possible  I  too  may 
please  some  of  those  that  have  but  little  acquaintance  ;  and  if 
I  should  be  preferred  by  a  woman,  for  being  the  first  among 
her  companions,  it  would  give  me  as  much  pleasure  as  if  I 
were  the  first  man  in  the  world.  Think  again,  and  prevent  a 
misfortune  from  falling  on  both  of  us. 

When  you  are  at  leisure,  I  shall  be  as  ready  to  end  all,  as 
I  was  last  night,  when  I  disobliged  one,  that  will  do  me  hurt, 
by  crossing  his  desires,  rather  than  fail  of  meeting  you.  Had 
I  imagined  you  could  have  left  me,  without  finishing,  I  had 
not  seen  you.  Now  you  have  been  so  free  before  Mrs.  Steele,*1 
you  may  call  upon  her,  or  send  for  her,  to-morrow,  or  next 
day.  Let  her  dine  with  you,  or  go  to  visit  shops,  Hyde  Park, 
or  other  diversions.  You  may  bring  her  home.  I  can  be  in 
the  house,  reading,  as  I  often  am,  though  the  master  is  abroad. 
If  you  will  have  her  visit  you  first,  I  will  get  her  to  go  to- 
morrow. I  think  a  man,  or  a  woman,  is  under  no  engagement 
till  the  writings  are  sealed  ;  but  it  looks  like  indiscretion  even 
to  begin  a  treaty,  without  a  probability  of  concluding  it. 
When  you  hear  of  all  my  objections  to  you,  and  to  myself, 
you  will  resolve  against  me.  Last  night  you  were  much  upon 
the  reserve  :  I  see  you  can  never  be  thoroughly  intimate  with 
me  ;  'tis  because  you  have  no  pleasure  in  it.  You  can  be 
easy,  and  complaisant,  as  you  have  sometimes  told  me ;  but 
never  think  that  enough  to  make  me  easy,  unless  you  refuse 
me. 

Write  a  line  this  evening,  or  early  to-morrow.  If  I  don't 
speak  plain,  do  you  understand  what  I  write  ?  Tell  me  how 
to  mend  the  style,  if  the  fault  is  in  that.  If  the  characters 
are  not  plain,  I  can  easily  mend  them.     I  always  comprehend 

*  The  wife  of  Mr.  (afterward  Sir  Richard)  Steele. 


232  LETTERS      OF 

your  expressions,  but  would  give  s   great  deal  to  know  what 
passes  in  your  heart. 

In  you  I  might  possess  youth,  beauty,  and  all  things  that 
can  charm.  It  is  possible  that  they  may  strike  me  less  after  a 
time  ;  but  I  may  then  consider  I  have  once  enjoyed  them  in 
perfection ;  that  they  would  have  decayed  as  soon  in  any 
other.  You  see  this  is  not  your  case.  You  will  think  you 
might  have  been  happier.  Never  engage  with  a  man,  unless 
you  propose  to  yourself  the  highest  satisfaction  from  him  and 
none  other.  E.  W.  Montagu. 


LETTER  XXXVni. 

(THE  ASTSWEB.) 

TO    E.   W.    MONTAGU,  ESQ. 

Tuesday  night. 

I  received  both  your  Monday  letters  before  I  writ  the  in- 
closed, which,  however,  I  send  you.  The  kind  letter  was  writ 
and  sent  Friday  morning,  and  I  did  not  receive  yours  till  Sat- 
urday noon.  To  speak  truth,  you  would  never  have  had  it, 
there  were  so  many  things  in  yours  to  put  me  out  of  humor. 
Thus,  you  see,  it  was  on  no  design  to  repair  any  thing  that 
offended  you.  You  only  show  me  how  industrious  you  are 
to  find  faults  in  me  ; — why  will  you  not  suffer  me  to  be  pleased 
with  you  ? 

I  would  see  you  if  1  could  (though  perhaps  it  may  be 
wrong) ;  but,  in  the  way  that  I  am  here,  'tis  impossible.  I 
can't  come  to  town,  but  in  company  with  my  sister-in-law ;  I 
can  carry  her  nowhere  but  where  she  pleases  ;  or,  if  I  could, 
[  would  trust  her  with  nothing.  I  could  not  walk  out  alone, 
without  giving  suspicion  to  the  whole  family ;  should  I  be 
watched,  and  seen  to  meet  a  man — judge  of  the  consequences ! 

You  speak  of  treating  with  my  father,  as  if  you  believed  he 
would  come  to  terms  afterward.  I  will  not  suffer  you  to  re- 
main in  the  thought,  however  advantageous  it  might  be  to 
me ;  I  will  deceive  you  in  nothing.  I  am  fully  persuaded  he 
will  never  hear  of  terms  afterward.     You  may  say,  'tis  talking 


COURTSHIP 


233 


oddly  of  him.  I  can't  answer  to  that ;  but  'tis  my  real  opin- 
ion, and  I  think  I  know  him.  You  talk  to  me  of  estates,  as 
if  I  was  the  most  interested  woman  in  the  world.  Whatever 
faults  I  may  have  shown  in  my  life,  I  know  not  one  action  of 
it  that  ever  proved  me  mercenary.  I  think  there  can  not  be  a 
greater  proof  to  the  contrary  than  my  treating  with  you,  where 
I  am  to  depend  entirely  upon  your  generosity,  at  the  same 
time  that  I  may  have  settled  on  me  £500  per  annum  pin- 
money,  and  a  considerable  jointure,  in  another  place  ;  not  to 
reckon  that  I  may  have  by  his  temper  what  command  of  his 
estate  I  please ;  and  with  you  I  have  nothing  to  pretend  to. 
I  do  not,  however,  make  a  merit  to  you ;  money  is  very  little 
to  me,  because  all  beyond  necessaries  I  do  not  value,  that  is 
to  be  purchased  by  it.  If  the  man  proposed  to  me  had 
£10,000  per  annum,  and  I  was  sure  to  dispose  of  it  all,  I 
should  act  just  as  I  do.  I  have  in  my  life  known  a  good  deal 
of  show,  and  never  found  myself  the  happier  for  it. 

In  proposing  to  you  to  follow  the  scheme  proposed  by  that 
friend,  I  think  'tis  absolutely  necessary  for  both  our  sakes.  I 
would  have  you  want  no  pleasure  which  a  single  life  would 
afford  you.  You  own  you  think  nothing  so  agreeable.  A 
woman  that  adds  nothing  to  a  man's  fortune  ought  not  to 
take  from  his  happiness.  If  possible,  I  would  add  to  it ;  but 
I  will  not  take  from  you  any  satisfaction  you  could  enjoy  with- 
out me.  On  my  own  side,  I  endeavor  to  form  as  right  a 
judgment  of  the  temper  of  human  nature,  and  of  my  own  in 
particular,  as  I  am  capable  of.  I  would  throw  off  all  par 
tiality  and  passion,  and  be  calm  in  my  opinion.  Almost  all 
people  are  apt  to  run  into  a  mistake,  that  when  they  once  feel 
or  give  a  passion,  there  needs  nothing  to  entertain  it.  If  we 
marry,  our  happiness  must  consist  in  loving  one  another  ;  'tis 
principally  n  y  concern  to  think  of  the  most  probable  method 
of  making  that  love  eternal.  You  object  against  living  in 
London  ;  I  am  not  fond  of  it  myself,  and  readily  give  it  up 
to  you  ;  though  I  am  assured  there  needs  more  art  to  keep  a 
fondness  alive  in  solitude,  where  it  generally  preys  upon  itself. 


234  LETTERS     OF     COURTSHIP. 

There  is  one  article  absolutely  necessary — to  be  ever  beloved, 
one  must  be  ever  agreeable.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  being 
agreeable,  without  a  thorough  good  humor,  a  natural  sweet- 
ness of  temper,  enlivened  by  cheerfulness.  Whatever  natural 
funds  of  gayety  one  is  born  with,  'tis  necessary  to  be  entertained 
with  agreeable  objects.  Any  body,  capable  of  tasting  pleas- 
ure, when  they  confine  themselves  to  one  place,  should  take 
care  'tis  the  place  in  the  world  the  most  agreeable.  What- 
ever you  may  now  think  (now,  perhaps,  you  have  some  fond- 
ness for  me),  though  your  love  should  continue  in  its  full 
force,  there  are  hours  when  the  most  beloved  mistress  would 
be  troublesome.  People  are  not  forever  (nor  is  it  in  human 
nature  that  they  should  be)  disposed  to  be  fond ;  you  would 
be  glad  to  find  in  me  the  friend  and  the  companion.  To  be 
agreeably  the  last,  it  is  necessary  to  be  gay  and  entertaining. 
A  perpetual  solitude,  in  a  place  where  you  see  nothing  to 
raise  your  spirits,  at  length  wears  them  out,  and  conversation 
insensibly  falls  into  dull  and  insipid.  When  I  have  no  more 
to  say  to  you,  you  will  like  me  no  longer.  How  dreadful  is 
that  view  1  You  will  reflect  for  my  sake  you  have  abandoned 
the  conversation  of  a  friend  that  you  liked,  and  your  situation 
in  a  country  where  all  things  would  have  contributed  to  make 
your  life  pass  in  (the  true  volupte)  a  smooth  tranquillity.  1 
shall  lose  the  vivacity  which  should  entertain  you,  and  you 
will  have  nothing  to  recompense  you  for  what  you  have  lost. 
Very  few  people  that  have  settled  entirely  in  the  country, 
but  have  grown  at  length  weary  of  one  another.  The  lady's 
conversation  generally  falls  into  a  thousand  impertinent  effects 
of  idleness  ;  and  the  gentleman  falls  in  love  with  his  dogs  and 
his  horses,  and  out  of  love  with  every  thing  else.  I  am  not 
now  arguing  in  favor  of  the  town  ;  you  have  answered  me  as 
to  that  point.  In  respect  of  your  health,  'tis  the  first  thing 
to  be  considered,  and  I  shall  never  ask  you  to  do  any  thing  in- 
jurious to  that.  But  'tis  my  opinion,  'tis  necessary,  to  be 
happy,  that  we  neither  of  us  think  any  place  more  agreeable 
than  that  where  we  can  live  together.  M.  P. 


LETTERS  TO  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUTE.4 
H 

FROM   1794   TO   1761, 


LETTER  I. 

Louveke,  Nov.  29,  1749. 
My  Dear  Child — I  received  your  agreeable  letter  of  Sep- 
tember 21,  yesterday,  November  29,  and  am  very  glad  our 
daughter  (for  I  think  she  belongs  to  us  both)  turns  out  so 
much  to  your  satisfaction  ;  may  she  ever  do  so.  I  hope  she 
has  by  this  time  received  my  token.  You  please  me  extremely 
in  saying  my  letters  are  of  any  entertainment  to  you. 


LETTER  II. 

Louvere,  Dec.  17,  N.  S.,  1749. 
Dear  Child — I  received  yours  of  October  14  but  yester- 
day :  the  negligence  of  the  post  is  very  disagreeable.     I  have 

*  Mary,  Countess  of  Bute,  only  daughter  of  her  parents,  was  born  in 
Constantinople,  1715,  during  Mr.  Wortley's  embassy.  This  darling 
daughter  seems  to  have  deserved  the  devoted  affection  her  mother  al- 
ways manifested  for  her.  Her  marriage,  which  took  place  in  1736, 
was  highly  gratifying  to  both  her  parents.  Lady  Mary  was  proud  of 
her  son-in-law,  John,  third  Earl  of  Bute  (afterward  minister  of  George 
III.) ;  and  her  heart  had  its  fondest  resting-place,  and  sweetest  hopes 
in  the  family  of  her  grandchildren.  The  Countess  of  Bute  died  in 
1794,  cherishing  to  the  last,  as  her  dearest  inheritance,  the  memory  of 
her  gifted  mother. — Am.  Ed. 


236  LETTERS     TO 

at  length  had  a  letter  from  Lady  Oxford,  by  which  I  find 
mine  to  her  has  miscarried,  and  perhaps  the  answer  which  I 
have  now  wrote  may  have  the  same  fate. 

I  wish  you  joy  of  your  young  son :  may  he  live  to  be  a 
blessing  to  you.  I  find  I  amuse  myself  here  in  the  same 
manner  as  if  at  London,  according  to  your  account  of  it ;  that 
is,  I  play  whist  every  night  with  some  old  priests  that  I  have 
taught  it  to,  and  are  my  only  companions.  To  say  truth,  the 
decay  of  my  sight  will  no  longer  suffer  me  to  read  by  candle- 
light, and  the  evenings  are  now  long  and  dark.  I  believe 
you  '11  be  persuaded  my  gaming  makes  nobody  uneasy,  when 
I  tell  you  that  we  play  only  a  penny  per  corner.  'Tis  now  a 
year  that  I  have  lived  wholly  in  the  country,  and  have  no  de- 
sign of  quitting  it.  I  am  entirely  given  up  to  rural  amuse- 
ments, and  have  forgot  there  are  any  such  things  as  wits  or 
fine  ladies  in  the  world.  However,  I  am  pleased  to  hear  what 
happens  to  my  acquaintance.  I  wish  you  would  inform  me 
what  is  become  of  the  Pomfret  family,  and  who  Sir  Francis 
Dashwood*  has  married.  I  knew  him  at  Florence  :  he  seemed 
so  nice  in  the  choice  of  a  wife,  I  have  some  curiosity  to  know 
who  it  is  that  has  had  charms  enough  to  make  him  enter  into 
an  engagement  he  used  to  speak  of  with  fear  and  trembling. 


LETTER  HI. 

Loijvere,  December  14,  1750. 
Dear  Child — I  received  yours  of  October  the  28th  this 
morning,  December  24th,  N.  S.  I  am  afraid  a  letter  of  two 
sheets  of  paper  that  I  sent  you  from  Salo  never  came  to  your 
hands,  which  I  am  very  sorry  for  :  it  would  have  been,  per- 
haps, some  entertainment,  being  the  description  of  places  that 
I  am  sure  you  have  not  found  in  any  book  of  travels.  I  also 
made  my  hearty  congratulations  to  Lord  Bute  and  yourself, 

*  He  married  Sarah,  daughter  and  co-heir  of  Thomas  Gould,  Esq., 
of  Ivor,  Bucks,  aud  widow  of  Sir  Richard  Ellis,  Bait. 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  237 

on  his  place,  which  I  hope  is  an  earnest  of  future  advantages. 
I  desired  you  would  send  me  all  the  books  of  which  you  gave 
a  catalogue,  except  H.  Fielding's  and  his  sister's,  which  I  have 
already.  I  thank  God  my  taste  still  continues  for  the  gay 
part  of  reading*  Wiser  people  may  think  it  trifling,  but  it 
serves  to  sweeten  life  to  me,  and  is  at  worst  better  than  the 
generality  of  conversation.  I  am  extremely  pleased  with  the 
account  you  give  me  of  your  father's  health :  his  life  is  the 
greatest  blessing  that  can  happen  to  his  family. "  I  am  very 
sincerely  touched  with  the  Duchess  of  Montagu's  misfortune,! 
though  I  think  it  no  reasonable  cause  for  locking  herself  up. 
Age  and  ugliness  are  as  inseparable  as  heat  and  fire,  and  I 
think  it  all  one  in  what  shape  one's  figure  grows  disagreeable. 
I  remember  the  Princess  of  Moldavia  at  Constantinople  made 
a  party  of  pleasure  the  next  day  after  losing  one  of  her  eyes ; 
and  when  I  wondered  at  her  philosophy,  said  she  had  more 
reason  to  divert  herself  than  she  had  before.  'Tis  true  our 
climate  is  apt  to  inspire  more  melancholy  ideas  :  the  enliven- 
ing heat  of  the  sun  continues  the  cheerfulness  of  youth  to  the 
grave  with  most  people.  I  received  a  visit  not  long  since 
from  a  fair  young  lady,  that  had  new  lain-in  of  her  nineteenth 
child :  in  reality  she  is  but  thirty-seven,  and  has  so  well  pre- 
served her  fine  shape  and  complexion,  she  appears  little  past 
twenty.  I  wish  you  the  same  good  fortune,  though  not  quite 
so  numerous  a  posterity.  Every  happiness  is  ardently  desired 
for  you  by,  dear  child,  your  most  affectionate  mother. 

P.  L — My  compliments  to  Lord  Bute,  and  blessings  to  all 
your  little  ones.  I  am  ashamed  not  to  have  sent  my  token  to 
my  god-daughter  ;  I  hope  to  do  it  in  a  short  time. 

*  In  Spencer's  Anecdotes,  by  Singer,  there  is  an  observation  of 
Lady  Oxford  in  these  words :  "  I  wonder  how  any  body  can  find  pleas- 
ure in  reading  the  books  which  are  that  lady's  chief  favorites."  Here 
we  have  Lady  M°.ry's  confession  of  her  liking  to  works  of  imagina- 
tion, and  her  defense  of  her  taste. 

\  Lady  Mary  Churchill,  youngest  daughter  of  John  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough, wife  of  John  Duke  of  Montagu,  died  May  4,  1751. 


238  LETTERS      TO 

LETTER  IV. 

April  15,  N.  S.,  1751. 
My  Dear  Child — I  received  yours  of  Feb.  10th  with  great 
pleasure,  as  it  brought  me  the  news  of  your  health,  and  that 
of  your  family.  I  can  not  guess  who  you  mean  by  Lord  Mont- 
fort,*  there  being  no  such  title  when  I  left  England,  nor  any 
Lord  Hertford,!  who  I  hear  is  named  embassador  to  France  : 
these  are  all  new  people  to  me.  I  wish  you  would  give  me 
some  information  concerning  them :  none  can  be  so  agreeable 
as  the  continuation  of  your  father's  health ;  you  see  in  him  the 
good  effect  of  a  strict  abstinence,  and  regular  exercise.  I  am 
much  pleased  (but  not  at  all  surprised)  at  his  kindness  to  you  : 
I  know  him  to  be  more  capable  of  a  generous  action  than  any 
man  I  ever  knew.  I  have  never  heard  one  word  of  the  books 
that  you  told  me  were  packed  up  last  June.  These  things 
are  very  provoking,  but  fretting  mends  nothing.  I  will  con- 
tinue to  write  on,  though  the  uncertainty  of  your  receiving  my 
letters  is  a  strong  abatement  of  my  pleasure  in  writing,  and  will 
be  of  heavy  consequence  to  my  style.  I  feel  at  this  minute  the 
spirit  of  dullness  chill  my  heart,  and  I  am  ready  to  break  out 
into  alacks  and  alases,  with  many  murmurs  against  my  cruel 
destiny,  that  will  not  even  permit  this  distant  conversation  be- 
tween us,  without  such  allaying  circumstances.  However,  I 
beg  you  not  to  be  discouraged.  I  am  persuaded,  from  the 
goodness  of  your  heart,  that  you  are  willing  to  give  me  hap- 
piness ;  and  I  can  have  none  here  so  great  as  a  letter  from  you. 
You  can  never  want  subjects ;  and  I  can  assure  you  that  your 
eldest  daughter  can  not  be  more  delighted  with  a  birth-day  suit, 
or  your  youngest  with  a  paper  of  sugar-plums,  than  I  am  at 
the  sight  of  your  hand.  You  seem  very  anxious  on  the  account 
of  your  children's  education.  I  have  said  all  I  have  to  say  on 
that  head ;  and  am  still  of  the  same  opinion,  that  learning  is 
necessary  to  the  happiness  of  women,  and  ignorance  the  com- 

*  Henry  Bromley,  created  Baron  Montfort,  1141. 

f  Francis  Seymour  Conway,  created  Earl  of  Hertford,  1150. 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  2o9 

mon  foundation  of  their  errors,  both  in  morals  and  conduct. 

I  was  well  acquainted  with  a  lady  (the  Duchess  of  M r*) 

who,  I  am  persuaded,  owed  all  her  misfortunes  to  the  want  of 
instruction  in  her  youth.  You  know  another,  who,  if  she 
had  had  her  natural  good  understanding  cultivated  by  letters, 
would  never  have  mistaken  Johnny  Gay  for  a  wit,  and  much 
less  have  printed  that  he  took  the  liberty  of  calling  her  his 
Laura.f 

I  am  pleasingly  interrupted  by  the  welcome  information  from 
Lord  Bute  that  you  are  safely  delivered  of  a  son.  I  am  never 
in  pain  for  any  of  that  sex.  If  they  have  any  merit,  there  are 
so  many  roads  for  them  to  meet  good  fortune,  they  can  no  way 
fail  but  by  not  deserving  it.  We  have  but  one  of  establishing 
ours,  and  that  surrounded  with  precipices,  and  perhaps  after 
all  better  missed  than  found.  I  have  already  told  you  I  look 
on  my  grand-daughters  as  lay  nuns.  Lady  Mary|  might 
avoid  that  destiny,  if  religion  was  not  a  bar  to  her  being  dis- 
posed of  in  this  country.  You  will  laugh  to  hear  it,  but  it 
is  really  true,  I  had  proposed  to  me  a  young  man  of  quality, 
with  a  good  estate :  his  parents  are  both  dead :  she  would 
find  a  fine  palace,  and  neither  want  jewels  nor  equipage ;  and 
her  name  (with  a  present  from  me)  be  thought  a  sufficient 
fortune. 

I  shall  write  to  Lord  Bute  this  post.  My  blessing  to  you  and 
yours  is  sincerely  sent  from  your  most  affectionate  mother. 


LETTER  V. 

Louvere,  June  19,  K  S.,  1751. 

My  Dear  Child — I  am  much  obliged  to  Lord  Bute  for 

thinking  of  me  so  kindly  :  to  say  truth,  I  am  as  fond  of  baubles 

as  ever,  and  am  so  far  from  being  ashamed  of  it,  that  it  is  a 

taste  I  endeavor  to  keep  up  with  all  the  art  I  am  mistress  of, 

*  Manchester.  \  The  Duchess  of  Queensberry. 

\  Lady  Mary  Stuart,  afterward*  Countess  of  Lonsdale. 


240  LETTERS     TO 

I  should  have  despised  them  at  twenty  for  the  same  reason  that 
I  would  not  eat  tarts  or  cheesecakes  at  twelve  years  old,  as 
being  too  childish  for  one  capable  of  more  solid  pleasures.  I 
now  know  (and  alas  !  have  long  known)  all  things  in  this  world 
are  almost  equally  trifling,  and  our  most  serious  projects  have 
scarce  more  foundation  than  those  edifices  that  your  little  ones 
raise  in  cards.  You  see  to  what  period  the  vast  fortunes  of  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  and  Sir  Robert  Walpole 
are  soon  arrived.  I  believe  as  you  do,  that  Lady  Orford  is  a 
joyful  widow,  but  am  persuaded  she  has  as  much  reason  to 
weep  for  her  husband  as  ever  any  women  has  had,  from  Androm- 
ache to  this  day.  I  never  saw  any  second  marriage  that  did 
not  appear  to  me  very  ridiculous :  hers  is  accompanied  with 
circumstances  that  render  the  folly  complete. 

Sicknesses  have  been  very  fatal  in  this  country,  as  well  as 
England.  I  should  be  glad  to  know  the  names  of  those  you 
say  are  deceased  :  I  believe  I  am  ignorant  of  half  of  them,  the 
Dutch  news  being  forbid  here.  I  would  not  have  you  give 
yourself  the  trouble,  but  order  one  of  your  servants  to  transcribe 
the  catalogue.  You  will  perhaps  laugh  at  this  curiosity.  K 
you  ever  return  to  Bute,  you  will  find  that  what  happens  in 
the  world  is  a  considerable  amusement  in  solitude.  The  peo- 
ple I  see  here  make  no  more  impression  on  my  mind  than  the 
figures  in  the  tapestry,  while  they  are  directly  before  my  eyes. 
I  know  one  is  clothed  in  blue,  and  another  in  red ;  but  out  of 
sight,  they  are  so  entirely  out  of  memory,  I  hardly  remem- 
ber whether  they  are  tall  or  short.  I  sometimes  call  myself  to 
account  for  this  insensibility,  which  has  something  of  ingrati- 
tude in  it,  this  little  town  thinking  themselves  highly  honored 
and  obliged  by  my  residence :  they  intended  me  an  extraordin- 
ary mark  of  it,  having  determined  to  set  up  my  statue  in  the 
most  conspicuous  place  :  the  marble  was  bespoke,  and  the 
sculptor  bargained  with,  before  I  knew  any  thing  of  the  mat- 
ter ;  and  it  would  have  been  erected  without  my  knowledge, 
vf  it  had  not  been  necessary  for  him  to  see  me  to  take  the  re- 
emblance.     I  thanked  them  very  much  for  the  intention  ;  but 


THE     COUNTESS     OF    BUTE.  241 

utterly  refused  complying  with  it,  fearing  it  would  be  reported 
(at  least  in  England)  that  I  had  set  up  my  own  statue.  They 
were  so  obstinate  in  the  design,  I  was  forced  to  tell  them  my 
religion  would  not  permit  it.  I  seriously  believe  it  would  have 
been  worshiped,  when  I  was  forgotten,  under  the  name  of 
some  saint  or  other,  since  I  was  to  have  been  represented  with 
a  book  in  my  hand,  which  would  have  passed  for  a  proof  of 
canonization.  This  compliment  was  certainly  founded  on  rea- 
sons not  unlike  those  that  first  famed  goddesses,  I  mean  being- 
useful  to  them,  in  which  I  am  second  to  Ceres.  If  it  be  true 
she  taught  the  art  of  sowing  wheat,  it  is  certain  I  have  learned 
them  to  make  bread,  in  which  they  continued  in  -the  same 
ignorance  Misson  complains  of  (as  you  may  see  in  his  letter 
from  Padnor).  I  have  introduced  French  rolls  cuftards, 
minced  pies,  and  plum-pudding,  which  they  are  very  fond  of. 
'Tis  impossible  to  bring  them  to  conform  to  sillabub,  which  is 
so  unnatural  a  mixture  in  their  eyes,  they  are  even  shocked  to 
see  me  eat  it :  but  I  expect  immortality  from  the  science  of 
butter  making,  in  which  they  are  become  so  skillful  from  my 
instructions.  I  can  assure  you  here  is  as  good  as  in  any  part 
of  Great  Britain. 


LETTER  VI. 

Louvere,  Dec.  8,  K  S.,  1751. 
This  town  is  at  present  in  a  general  stare,  or,  to  use  their 
own  expression,  sotto  sopra  ;  and  not  only  this  town,  but  the 
capital,  Bergamo,  the  whole  province,  the  neighboring  Bres- 
cian,  and  perhaps  all  the  Venetian  dominion,  occasioned  by 
an  adventure  exactly  resembling,  and  I  believe  copied  from, 
Pamela.  I  know  not  under  what  constellation  that  foolish 
stuff  was  wrote,  but  it  has  been  translated  into  more  languages 
than  any  modern  performance  I  ever  heard  of.  No  proof  of 
its  influence  was  ever  stronger  than  this  present  story,  which, 
in  Richardson's  hands,  would  serve  very  well  to  furnish  out 
seven  or  eight  volumes.     I  shall  make  it  as  short  as  I  can. 

11 


242  LETTERS      TO 

Here  is  a  gentleman's  family,  consisting  of  an  olft  bachelor 
and  his  sister,  who  have  fortune  enough  to  live  with  great 
elegance,  though  without  any  magnificence,  possessed  of  the 
esteem  of  all  their  acquaintance,  he  being  distinguished  by  his 
probity,  and  she  by  her  virtue.  They  are  not  only  suffered  but 
sought  after  by  all  the  best  company,  and  indeed  are  the  most 
conversable  and  reasonable  people  in  this  place.  She  is  an 
excellent  housewife,  and  particularly  remarkable  for  keeping 
her  pretty  house  as  neat  as  any  in  Holland.  She  appears  no 
longer  in  public,  being  past  fifty,  and  passes  her  time  chiefly 
at  home  with  her  work,  receiving  few  visitants.  This  Signora 
Diana,  about  ten  years  since,  saw,  at  a  monastery,  a  girl  of 
eight  years  old,  who  came  thither  to  beg  alms  for  her  mother. 
Her  beauty,  though  covered  with  rags,  was  very  observable, 
and  gave  great  compassion  to  the  charitable  lady,  who  thought 
it  meritorious  to  rescue  such  a  modest  sweetness  as  appeared 
in  her  face  from  the  ruin  to  which  her  wretched  circumstances 
exposed  her.  She  asked  some  questions,  to  which  she  an- 
swered with  a  natural  civility  that  seemed  surprising ;  and 
finding  the  head  of  her  family  (her  brother)  to  be  a  cobbler, 
who  could  hardly  live  by  that  trade,  she  bid  the  child  follow 
her  home ;  and  sending  for  her  parent,  proposed  to  her  to 
breed  the  little  Octavia  for  her  servant.  This  was  joyfully  ac- 
cepted, the  old  woman  dismissed  with  a  piece  of  money,  and 
the  girl  remained  with  the  Signora  Diana,  who  bought  her 
decent  clothes,  and  took  pleasure  in  teaching  her  whatever  she 
was  capable  of  learning.  She  learned  to  read,  write,  and  cast 
accounts,  with  uncommon  facility ;  and  had  such  a  genius  for 
work,  that  she  excelled  her  mistress  in  embroidery,  point,  anu 
every  operation  of  the  needle.  She  grew  perfectly  skilled  in 
confectionary,  had  a  good  insight  into  cookery,  and  was  a 
great  proficient  in  distillery.  To  these  accomplishments  she 
was  so  handy,  well-bred,  humble,  and  modest,  that  not  only 
her  master  and  mistress,  but  every  body  that  frequented  the 
house  took  notice  of  her.  She  lived  thus  near  nine  years,  never 
going  out  but  to  church.     However,  beauty  is  as  difficult  to 


THE     COUHTESS     OF     BUTE.  243 

conceal  as  light ;  hers  begun  to  make  a  great  noise.  ■  Signora 
Diana  told  me  she  observed  an  unusual  concourse  of  peddling 
women  that  came  on  pretext  to  sell  pennyworths  of  lace, 
china,  etc.,  and  several  young  gentlemen,  very  well  powdered, 
that  were  perpetually  walking  before  her  door,  and  looking  up 
at  the  windows.  These  prognostics  alarmed  her  prudence, 
and  she  listened  very  willingly  to  some  honorable  proposals 
that  were  made  by  many  honest  thriving  tradesmen.  She 
communicated  this  to  Octavia,  and  told  her  that  though  she 
was  sorry  to  lose  so  good  a  servant,  yet  she  thought  it  right 
to  advise  her  to  choose  a  husband.  The  girl  answered  mod- 
estly that  it  was  her  duty  to  obey  all  her  commands,  but  she 
found  no  inclination  to  marriage ;  and  if  she  would  permit  her 
to  live  single,  she  would  think  it  a  greater  obligation  than  any 
other  she  could  bestow.  Signora  Diana  was  too  conscientious 
to  force  her  into  a  state  from  which  she  could  not  free  her,  and 
left  her  to  her  own  disposal.  However,  they  parted  soon 
after :  whether  (as  the  neighbors  say)  Signor  Aurelio  Ardin- 
ghi,  her  brother,  looked  with  too  much  attention  on  the  young 
woman,  or  that  she  herself  (as  Diana  says)  desired  to  seek  a 
place  of  more  profit,  she  removed  to  Bergamo,  where  she  soon 
found  preferment,  being  strongly  recommended  by  the  Ardin- 
ghi  f  imily.  She  was  advanced  to  be  first  waiting- woman  to 
an  old  countess,  who  was  so  well  pleased  with  her  service, 
she  desired,  on  her  death-bed,  Count  Jeronimo  Losi,  her  son, 
to  be  kind  to  her.  He  found  no  repugnance  to  this  act  of  obedi- 
ence, having  distinguished  the  beautiful  Octavia,  from  his  first 
sight  of  her ;  and  during  the  six  months  that  she  had  served 
in  the  house,  had  tried  every  art  of  a  fine  gentleman  accus- 
tomed to  victories  of  that  sort,  to  vanquish  the  virtue  of  this 
fair  virgin.  He  has  a  handsome  figure,  and  has  had  an  edu- 
cation uncommon  in  this  country,  having  made  the  tour  of 
Europe,  and  brought  from  Paris  all  the  improvements  that  are 
to  be  picked  up  there,  being  celebrated  for  his  grace  in  danc- 
ing, and  skill  in  fencing  and  riding,  by  which  he  is  a  favorite 
among  the  ladies,  and  respected  by  the  men.     Thus  qualified 


244  LETTERS    10 

for  conquest,  you  may  judge  of  his  surprise  at  the  firm  yet 
modest  resistance  of  this  country  girl,  who  was  neither  to  be 
moved  by  address,  nor  gained  by  liberality,  nor  on  any  terms 
would  be  prevailed  on  to  stay  as  his  housekeeper,  after  the 
death  of  his  mother.  She  took  that  post  in  the  house  of  an 
old  judge,  where  she  continued  to  be  solicited  by  the  emissa- 
ries of  the  Count's  passion,  and  found  a  new  persecutor  in  her 
master,  who  after  three  months'  endeavor  to  corrupt  her, 
offered  her  marriage.  She  chose  to  return  to  her  former  ob- 
scurity, and  escaped  from  his  pursuit,  without  asking  any 
wages,  and  privately  returned  to  the  Signora  Diana.  She 
threw  herself  at  her  feet,  and,  kissing  her  hands,  begged  her 
with  tears  to  conceal  her,  at  least  some  time,  if  she  would  not 
accept  her  service.  She  protested  she  had  never  been  happy 
since  she  left  it.  While  she  was  making  these  submissions, 
Signor  Aurelio  entered.  She  entreated  his  intercession  on  her 
knees,  who  was  easily  persuaded  to  consent  she  should  stay 
with  them,  though  his  sister  blamed  her  highly  for  her  precipi- 
tate flight,  having  no  reason,  from  the  age  and  character  of 
her  master,  to  fear  any  violence,  and  wondered  at  her  declin- 
ing the  honor  he  offered  her.  Octavia  confessed  that  perhaps 
she  had  been  too  rash  in  her  proceedings,  but  said  that  he 
seemed  to  resent  her  refusal  in  such  a  manner  as  frightened 
her ;  she  hoped  that  after  a  few  days'  search  he  would  think 
no  more  of  her ;  and  that  she  scrupled  entering  into  the  holy 
bands  of  matrimony,  where  her  heart  did  not  sincerely  accom- 
pany all  the  words  of  the  ceremony.  Signora  Diana  had 
nothing  to  say  in  contradiction  to  this  pious  sentiment ;  and 
her  brother  applauded  the  honesty  which  could  not  be  per- 
verted by  any  interest  whatever.  She  remained  concealed 
in  their  house,  where  she  helped  in  the  kitchen,  cleaned  the 
rooms,  and  redoubled  her  usual  diligence  and  officiousness. 
Her  old  master  came  to  Louvere  on  pretense  of  adjusting  a 
law-suit,  three  days  after,  and  made  private  inquiry  after  her ; 
but  hearing  from  her  mother  and  brother  (who  knew  nothing 
of  her  being  here)  that  they  had  never  heard  of  her,  he  con- 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  245 

eluded  she  had  taken  another  route,  and  returned  to  Bergamo ; 
and  she  continued  in  this  retirement  near  a  fortnight. 

Last  Sunday,  as  soon  as  the  day  was  closed,  arrived  at  Signor 
Aurelio's  door,  a  handsome  equipage  in  a  large  coach,  attended 
by  four  well-armed  servants  on  horseback.  An  old  priest 
stepped  out  of  it,  and  desiring  to  speak  with  Signora  Diana, 
informed  her  he  came  from  the  Count  Jeronimo  Losi,  to  demand 
Octavia :  that  the  Count  waited  for  her  at  a  village  four  miles 
from  hence,  where  he  intended  to  marry  her ;  and  had  sent 
him,  who  was  engaged  to  perform  the  divine  rite,  that  Signora 
Diana  might  resign  her  to  his  care  without  any  difficulty.  The 
young  damsel  was  called  for,  who  entreated  she  might  be  per- 
mitted the  company  of  another  priest  with  whom  she  was  ac- 
quainted :  this  was  readily  granted ;  and  she  sent  for  a  young 
man  that  visits  me  very  often,  being  remarkable  for  his  sobriety 
and  learning.  Meanwhile  a  valet-de-chambre  presented  her 
with  a  box,  in  which  was  a  complete  genteel  undress  for  a  lady. 
Her  laced  linen  and  fine  night-gown  were  soon  put  on,  and 
away  they  marched,  leaving  the  family  in  a  surprise  not  to  be 
described. 

Signor  Aurelio  came  to  drink  coffee  with  me  next  morning ; 
his  first  words  were,  he  had  brought  me  the  history  of  Pamela. 
I  said,  laughing,  I  had  been  tired  with  it  long  since.  He  ex- 
plained himself  by  relating  this  story,  mixed  with  great  resent- 
ment for  Octavia's  conduct.  Count  Jeronimo's  father  had  been 
his  ancient  friend  and  patron  ;  and  this  escape  from  his  house 
(he  said)  would  lay  him  under  a  suspicion  of  having  abetted 
the  young  man's  folly,  and  perhaps  expose  him  to  the  anger  of 
all  his  relations,  for  contriving  an  action  he  would  rather  have 
died  than  suffered,  if  he  had  known  how  to  prevent  it.  I  easily 
believed  him,  there  appearing  a  latent  jealousy  under  his  afflic- 
tion, that  showed  me  he  envied  the  bridegroom's  happiness,  at 
the  same  time  he  condemned  his  extravagance. 

Yesterday  noon,  being  Saturday,  Don  Joseph  returned,  who 
has  got  the  name  of  Parson  Williams  by  this  expedition.  He 
relates,  that  when  the  bark  which  carried  the  coach  and  train 


246  LETTERS     TO 

arrived,  they  found  the  amorous  count  waiting  for  his  bride 
on  the  bank  of  the  lake.  He  would  have  proceeded  immedi- 
ately to  the  church  ;  but  she  utterly  refused  it,  till  they  had 
each  of  them  been  at  confession  ;  after  which  the  happy  knot 
was  tied  by  the  parish  priest.  They  continued  their  journey, 
and  came  to  their  palace  at  Bergamo  in  a  few  hours,  where 
every  thing  was  prepared  for  their  reception.  They  received 
the  communion  next  morning,  and  the  count  declares  that  the 
lovely  Octavia  has  brought  him  an  inestimable  portion,  since 
he  owes  to  her  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  He  has  renounced 
play,  at  which  he  had  lost  a  great  deal  of  time  and  money. 
She  has  already  retrenched  several  superfluous  servants,  and 
put  his  family  into  an  exact  method  of  economy,  preserving 
all  the  splendor  necessary  to  his  rank.  He  has  sent  a  letter 
in  his  own  hand  to  her  mother,  inviting  her  to  reside  with 
them,  and  subscribing  himself  her  dutiful  son ;  but  the 
countess  has  sent  another  privately  by  Don  Joseph,  in  which 
she  advises  the  old  woman  to  stay  at  Louvere,  promising  to 
take  care  she  shall  want  nothing,  accompanied  with  a  token 
of  twenty  sequins,*  which  is  at  least  nineteen  more  than 
ever  she  saw  in  her  life. 

I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  from  Octavia's  first  serving  the 
old  lady,  there  came  frequent  charities  in  her  name  to  her 
poor  parent,  which  nobody  was  surprised  at,  the  lady  being 
celebrated  for  pious  works,  and  Octavia  known  to  be  a  great 
favorite  with  her.  It  is  now  discovered  that  they  were  all 
sent  by  the  generous  lover,  who  has  presented  Don  Joseph 
very  handsomely,  but  he  has  brought  neither  letter  nor  mes- 
sao-e  to  the  house  of  Ardinghi,  which  affords  much  specu- 
lation. 

I  am  afraid  you  are  heartily  tired  with  this  tedious  tale. 
I  will  not  lengthen  it  with  reflections,  as  I  fancy  yours  will 
be  the  same  as  mine. 

AVith  mine  all  these  adventures  proceed  from  artifice  on 
one  side,  and  weakness  on  the  other.  An  honest,  tender  mind 
*  About  ten  guineas  English. 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  247 

is  often  betrayed  to  ruin  by  the  charms  that  make  the  fortune 
of  a  designing  head,  which,  when  joined  with  a  beautiful 
face,  can  never  fail  of  advancement,  except  barred  by  a  wise 
mother,  who  locks  up  her  daughters  from  view  till  nobody 
cares  to  look  on  them.  My  poor  friend  the  Duchess  of  Bol- 
ton* was  educated  in  solitude,  with  some  choice  of  books,  by 
a  saint-like  governess  :  crammed  with  virtue  and  good  quali- 
ties, she  thought  it  impossible  not  to  find  gratitude,  though 
she  failed  to  give  passion ;  and  upon  this  plan  threw  away 
her  estate,  was  despised  by  her  husband,  and  laughed  at  by 
the  public.  Polly,  bred  in  an  ale-house,  and  produced  on 
the  stage,  has  obtained  wealth  and  title,  and  found  the  way 
to  be  esteemed.  So  useful  is  early  experience — without  it 
half  of  life  is  dissipated  in  correcting  the  errors  that  we  have 
been  taught  to  receive  as  indisputable  truths. 


LETTER  Vn. 

Louvere,  January  21,  1*752. 
Mr  Dear  Child — I  am  extremely  concerned  to  hear  you 
complain  of  ill  health,  at  a  time  of  life  when  you  ought  to 
be  in  the  flower  of  your  strength.  I  hope  I  need  not  recom- 
mend to  you  to  take  care  of  it :  the  tenderness  you  have  for 
your  children  is  sufficient  to  enforce  you  to  the  utmost  regard 
for  the  preservation  of  a  life  so  necessary  to  their  well-being. 
I  do  not  doubt  your  prudence  in  their  education  ;  neither  can 
I  say  any  thing  particular  relating  to  it  at  this  distance,  dif- 
ferent tempers  requiring  different  management.  In  general, 
never  attempt  to  govern  them  (as  most  people  do)  by  deceit : 
if  they  find  themselves  cheated,  even  in  trifles,  it  will  so  far 
lessen  the  authority  of  their  instructor  as  to  make  them  neg- 

*  Lady  Anne  Yaughan,  daughter  and  heir  of  John  Earl  of  Carberry, 
married  Charles  Duke  of  Bolton  in  1713,  and  died  in  1751.  The  Duke 
of  Bolton  afterward  married  Lavinia  Fenton,  the  celebrated  Polly  in 
Gay's  Beggar's  Opera. 


248  LETTERS     TO 

lect  all  their  future  admonitions  ;  and,  if  possible,  breed  them 
free  from  prejudices ;  those  contracted  in  the  nursery  often 
influence  the  whole  life  after,  of  which  I  have  seen  many  mel- 
ancholy examples.  I  shall  say  no  more  of  this  subject,  nor 
would  have  said  this  little  if  you  had  not  asked  my  advice : 
'tis  much  easier  to  give  rules  than  to  practice  them.  I  am 
sensible  my  own  natural  temper  is  too  indulgent :  I  think  it 
the  least  dangerous  error,  yet  still  it  is  an  error.  I  can  only 
say  with  truth  that  I  do  not  know  in  my  whole  life  having 
ever  endeavored  to  impose  on  you,  or  give  a  false  color  to 
any  thing  that  I  represented  to  you.  If  your  daughters  are 
inclined  to  love  reading,  do  not  check  their  inclination  by 
hindering  them  of  the  diverting  part  of  it ;  it  is  as  neces- 
sary for  the  amusement  of  women  as  the  reputation  of  men ; 
but  teach  them  not  to  expect  or  desire  any  applause  from  it. 
Let  their  brothers  shine,  and  let  them  content  themselves  with 
making  their  lives  easier  by  it,  which  I  experimentally  know 
is  more  effectually  done  by  study  than  any  other  way.  Ig- 
norance is  as  much  the  fountain  of  vice  as  idleness,  and,  in- 
deed, generally  produces  it.  People  that  do  not  read  or  work 
for  a  livelihood,  have  many  hours  they  know  not  how  to  em- 
ploy, especially  women,  who  commonly  fall  into  vapors,  or 
something  worse.  I  am  afraid  you  '11  think  this  letter  very 
tedious :  forgive  it  as  coming  from  your  most  affectionate 
mother. 


LETTER  VIII. 

1752. 

Dear  Child — I  received  yesterday,  February  15,  N.  S., 
the  case  of  books  you  were  so  good  to  send  me.  The  enter- 
tainment they  have  already  given  me  has  recompensed  me 
for  the  long  time  I  expected  them.  I  began,  by  your  di 
rection,  with  Peregrine  Pickle.  I  think  Lady  Vane's  me- 
moirs contain  more  truth  and  less  malice  than  any  I  ever 
read  in  my  life.     When  she  speaks  of  her  own  being  disinter- 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  249 

ested,  I  am  apt  to  believe  she  really  thinks  so  herself,  as  ] 
many  highwaymen,  after  having  no  possibility  of  retrieving 
the  character  of  honesty,  please  themselves  with  that «  of  be- 
ing generous,  because  whatever  they  get  on  the  road  they  I 
always  spend  at  the  next  ale-house,  and  are  still  as  beggarly 
as  ever.  Her  history,  rightly  considered,  would  be  more  in- 
structive to  young  women  than  any  sermon  I  know.  They  \ 
may  see  there  what  mortifications  and  variety  of  misery  arc 
the  unavoidable  consequences  of  gallantry.  I  think  there  is 
no  rational  creature  that  would  not  prefer  the  life  of  the  strict- 
est Carmelite  to  the  round  of  hurry  and  misfortune  she  has 
gone  through.  Her  style  is  clear  and  concise,  with  some 
strokes  of  humor,  which  appear  to  me  so  much  above  her,  I 
can't  help  being  of  opinion  the  whole  has  been  modeled  by 
the  author  of  the  book  in  which  it  is  inserted,  who  is  some 
subaltern  admirer  of  hers.  I  may  judge  wrong,  she  being  no 
acquaintance  of  mine,  though  she  has  married  two  of  my 
relations.  Her  first  wedding  was  attended  with  circumstances 
that  made  me  think  a  visit  not  at  all  necessary,  though  I 
disobliged  Lady  Susan  by  neglecting  it ;  and  her  second, 
which  happened  soon  after,  made  her  so  near  a  neighbor 
that  I  rather  chose  to  stay  the  whole  summer  in  town  than 
partake  of  her  balls  and  parties  of  pleasure,  to  which  I  did 
not  think  it  proper  to  introduce  you  ;  and  had  no  other  way 
of  avoiding  it  without  incurring  the  censure  of  a  most  un- 
natural  mother  for  denying  you  diversions  that  the  pious 
Lady  Ferrers  permitted  to  her  exemplary  daughters.  Mr. 
Shirley  has  had  uncommon  fortune  in  making  the  conquest 
of  two  such  extraordinary  ladies,  equal  in  their  heroic  con- 
tempt of  shame,  and  eminent  above  their  sex,  the  one  for 
beauty,  and  the  other  wealth,  both  which  attract  the  pursuit 
of  all  mankind,  and  have  been  thrown  into  his  arms  with  the 
same  unlimited  fondness.  He  appeared  to  me  gentle,  well- 
bred,  well-shaped,  and  sensible ;  but  the  charms  of  his  face 
and  eyes,  which  Lady  Vane  describes  with  so  much  warmth, 
were,  I  confess,  always  invisible  to  me,  and  the  artificial  part 

11* 


250  LETTERS     TO 

of  his  character  very  glaring,  which  I  think  her  story  shows 
in  a  strong  light. 

The  next  book  I  laid  my  hand  on  was  the  Parish  Girl,  which 
interested  me  enough  not  to  be  able  to  quit  it  till  it  was  read 
over,  though  the  author  has  fallen  into  the  common  mistake 
of  romance-writers ;  intending  a  virtuous  character,  and  not 
knowing  how  to  draw  it;  the  first  step  of  his  heroine  (leaving 
her  patroness's  house)  being  altogther  absurd  and  ridiculous, 
justly  entitling  her  to  all  the  misfortunes  she  met  with.  Can- 
dles came  (and  my  eyes  grown  weary),  I  took  up  the  next 
book,  merery  because  I  supposed  from  the  title  it  could  not 
engage  me  long.  It  was  Pompey  the  Little,  which  has  reall) 
diverted  me  more  than  any  of  the  others,  and  it  was  impos- 
sible to  go  to  bed  till  it  was  finished.  It  is  a  real  and  exact 
representation  of  life,  as  it  is  now  acted  in  London,  as  it  was 
in  my  time,  and  as  it  will  be,  I  do  not  doubt,  a  hundred  years 
hence,  with  some  little  variation  of  dress,  and  perhaps  of  gov- 
ernment. I  found  there  many  of  my  acquaintance.  Lady  T. 
and  Lady  O.  are  so  well  painted,  I  fancied  I  heard  them  talk, 
and  have  heard  them  say  the  very  things  there  repeated.  I 
also  saw  myself  (as  I  now  am)  in  the  character  of  Mrs. 
Qualmsick.  You  will  be  surprised  at  this,  no  Englishwoman 
being  so  free  from  vapors,  having  never  in  my  life  complained 
of  low  spirits,  or  weak  nerves ;  but  our  resemblance  is  very 
strong  in  the  fancied  loss  of  appetite,  which  I  have  been  silly 
enough  to  be  persuaded  into  by  the  physician  of  this  place. 
He  visits  me  frequently,  as  being  one  of  the  most  considerable 
men  in  the  parish,  and  is  a  grave,  sober,  thinking,  great  fool, 
whose  solemn  appearance  and  deliberate  way  of  delivering  his 
sentiments,  gives  them  an  air  of  good  sense,  though  they  are 
often  the  most  injudicious  that  ever  were  pronounced.  By 
perpetual  telling  me  I  eat  so  little,  he  is  amazed  I  am  able  to 
subsist.  He  had  brought  me  to  be  of  his  opinion ;  and  I  be- 
gan to  be  seriously  uneasy  at  it.  This  useful  treatise  has 
roused  me  into  a  recollection  of  what  I  eat  yesterday,  and  do 
almost  every  day  the  same.     I  wake  generally  about  seven, 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  251 

and  drink  half  a  pint  of  waim  asses'  milk,  after  which  I  sleep 
two  hours  ;  as  soon  as  I  am  risen,  I  constantly  take  three  cups 
of  milk  coffee,  and  two  hours  after  that  a  large  cup  of  milk 
chocolate  :  two  hours  more  brings  my  dinner,  where  I  never 
fail  swallowing  a  good  dish  (I  don't  mean  plate)  of  gravy 
soup,  with  all  the  bread,  roots,  etc.,  belonging  to  it.  I  then 
eat  a  wing  and  the  whole  body  of  a  large  fat  capon,  and  a  veal 
sweetbread,  concluding  with  a  competent  quantity  of  custard, 
and  some  roasted  chestnuts.  At  five  in  the  afternoon  I  take 
another  dose  of  asses'  milk ;  and  for  supper  twelve  chestnuts 
(which  would  weigh  two  of  those  in  London),  one  new  laid 
egg,  and  a  handsome  porringer  of  white  bread  and  milk. 
With  this  diet,  notwithstanding  the  menaces  of  my  wise  doc- 
tor, I  am  now  convinced  I  am  in  no  danger  of  starving ;  and 
am  obliged  to  Little  Pompey  for  this  discovery. 

I  opened  my  eyes  this  morning  on  Leonora,  from  which  1 
defy  the  greatest  chemist  in  morals  to  extract  any  instruction. 
The  style  is  most  affectedly  florid  and  naturally  insipid,  with 
such  a  confused  heap  of  admirable  characters,  that  never  are, 
or  can  be,  in  human  nature.  I  flung  it  aside  after  fifty  pages, 
and  laid  hold  of  Mrs.  Philips,  where  I  expected  to  find,  at 
least  probable  if  not  true  facts,  and  was  not  disappointed. 
There  is  a  great  similitude  in  the  genius  and  adventures  (the 
one  being  productive  of  the  other)  between  Madam  Constan- 
tia  and  Lady  Vane  :  the  first  mentioned  has  the  advantage  in 
birth,  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  in  understanding  :  they  have 
both  had  scandalous  law-suits  with  their  husbands,  and  are 
endowed  with  the  same  intrepid  assurance.  Constantia  seems 
to  value  herself  also  on  her  generosity,  and  has  given  the  same 
proofs  of  it.  The  parallel  might  be  drawn  out  to  be  as  long 
as  any  of  Plutarch's ;  but  I  dare  swear  you  are  already  heartily 
weary  of  my  remarks,  and  wish  I  had  not  read  so  much  in  so 
short  a  time,  that  you  might  not  be  troubled  with  my  com- 
ments ;  but  you  must  suffer  me  to  say  something  of  the  polite 

Mr.  S ,  whose  name  I  should  never  have  guessed  by  the 

rapturous  description  his  mistress  makes  of  his  person,  having 


252  LETTERS      TO 

always  looked  upon  him  as  one  of  the  most  disagreeable  fel- 
lows about  town,  as  ociious  in  his  outside  as  stupid  in  his 
conversation,  and  I  should  as  soon  have  expected  to  hear  of 
his  conquests  at  the  head  of  an  army  as  among  women  ;  yet 
he  has  been,  it  seems,  the  darling  favorite  of  the  most  ex- 
perienced of  the  sex,  which  shows  me  I  am  a  very  bad  judge 
of  merit.  But  I  agree  with  Mrs.  Philips,  that  however  profli- 
gate she  may  have  been,  she  is  infinitely  his  superior  in  virtue  ; 
and  if  her  penitence  is  as  sincere  as  she  says,  she  may  expect 
their  future  fate  to  be  like  that  of  Dives  and  Lazarus. 

This  letter  is  of  a  most  immoderate  length.  It  will  find 
you  at  Caenwood ;  your  solitude  there  will  permit  you  to 
peruse,  and  even  to  forgive,  all  the  impertinence  of  your 
most  affectionate  mother. 


LETTER  IX. 

Lodvere,  June  23,  N".  S.,  1752. 
Soon  after  I  wrote  my  last  letter  to  my  dear  child,  I  was 
seized  with  so  violent  a  fever,  accompanied  with  so  many  bad 
symptoms,  my  life  was  despaired  of  by  the  physician  of  Got- 
tolengo,  and  I  prepared  myself  for  death  with  as  much  resig- 
nation as  that  circumstance  admits  :  some  of  my  neighbors, 
without  my  knowledge,  sent  express  for  the  doctor  of  this 
place,  whom  I  have  mentioned  to  you  formerly  as  having  un- 
common secrets.  I  was  surprised  to  see  him  at  my  bedside. 
He  declared  me  in  great  danger,  but  did  not  doubt  my  re- 
covery, if  I  was  wholly  under  his  care  :  and  his  first  prescrip- 
tion was  transporting  me  hither :  the  other  physician  asserted 
positively  I  should  die  on  the  road.  It  has  always  been  my 
^opinion  that  it  is  a  matter  of  the  utmost  indifference  where 
we  expire,  and  I  consented  to  be  removed.  My  bed  was  placed 
on  a  brancard ;  my  servants  followed  in  chaises  ;  and  in  this 
equipage  I  set  out.  I  tore  the  first  day's  journey  of  fifteen 
miles  without  any  visible  literati  on.    The  doctor  said  as  I  was 


THE     COUNTESS     OF    BUTE.  253 

not  worse  I  was  certainly  better ;  and  the  next  day  proceeded 
twenty  miles  to  Isco,  which  is  at  the  head  of  this  lake.  I  lay 
each  night  at  noblemen's  houses,  which  were  empty.  My  cook, 
with  my  physician,  always  preceded  two  or  three  hours,  and  I 
found  my  chamber  and  all  necessaries  ready  prepared  with 
the  exactest  attention.  I  was  put  into  a  bark  in  my  litter-bed, 
and  in  three  hours  arrived  here.  My  spirits  were  not  at  all 
wasted  (I  think  rather  raised)  by  the  fatigue  of  my  journey.  I 
drank  the  water  next  morning,  and,  with  a  few  doses  of  my 
physician's  prescription,  in  three  days  found  myself  in  perfect 
health,  which  appeared  almost  a  miracle  to  all  that  saw  me. 
You  may  imagine  I  am  willing  to  submit  to  the  orders  of  one 
that  I  must  acknowledge  the  instrument  in  saving  my  life, 
though  they  are  not  entirely  conformable  to  my  will  and  pleas- 
ure. He  has  sentenced  me  to  a  long  continuance  here,  which, 
he  says,  is  absolutely  necessary  to  the  confirmation  of  my 
health,  and  would  persuade  me  that  my  illness  has  been  wholly 
owing  to  my  omission  of  drinking  the  waters  these  two  years 
past.  I  dare  not  contradict  him,  and  must  own  he  deserves 
(from  the  various  surprising  cures  I  have  seen)  the  name 
given  him  in  this  country,  of  the  "  miraculous  man."  Both 
his  character  and  practice  are  so  singular  I  can  not  forbear 
giving  you  some  account  of  them.  He  will  not  permit  his 
patients  to  have  either  surgeon  or  apothecary  :  he  performs  all 
the  operations  of  the  first  with  great  dexterity,  and  whatever 
compounds  he  gives,  he  makes  in  his  own  house ;  those  are 
very  few :  juice  of  herbs  and  these  waters,  being  commonly 
his  sole  prescriptions.  He  has  very  little  learning,  and  professes 
drawing  all  his  knowledge  from  experience,  which  he  possesses, 
perhaps,  in  a  greater  degree  than  any  other  mortal,  being  the 
seventh  doctor  of  his  family,  in  a  direct  line.  His  forefathers 
have  all  of  them  left  journals  and  registers  solely  for  the  use 
of  their  posterity,  none  of  them  having  published  any  thing ; 
and  he  has  recourse  to  these  manuscripts  on  every  difficult 
case,  the  veracity  of  which,  at  least,  is  unquestionable.  His 
vivacity  is  prodigious,  and  he  is  indefatigable  in  his  industry ; 


254  LETTERS    TO 

but  what  most  distinguishes  him  is  a  disinterestedness  I  never 
saw  in  any  other :  he  is  as  regular  in  his  attendance  on  the 
poorest  peasant  from  whom  he  never  can  receive  one  farthing, 
as  on  the  richest  of  the  nobility ;  and  whenever  he  is  wanted, 
will  climb  three  or  four  miles  on  the  mountains,  in  the  hottest 
sun,  or  heaviest  rain,  where  a  horse  can  not  go,  to  arrive  at.  a 
cottage,  where,  if  their  condition  requires  it,  he  does  not  only 
give  them  advice  and  medicines  gratis,  but  bread,  wine,  and 
whatever  is  needful.  There  never  passes  a  week  without  one 
or  more  of  these  expeditions.  His  last  visit  is  generally  to  me. 
I  often  see  him  as  dirty  and  tired  as  a  foot  post,  having  eat 
nothing  all  day  but  a  roll  or  two  that  he  carries  in  his  pocket, 
yet  blessed  with  such  a  perpetual  flow  of  spirits  he  is  always 
gay  to  a  degree  above  cheerfulness.  There  is  a  peculiarity  in 
this  character  that  I  hope  will  incline  you  to  forgive  my  draw- 
ing it. 

I  have  already  described  to  you  this  extraordinary  spot  of 
land,  which  is  almost  unknown  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
indeed  does  not  seem  to  be  destined  by  nature  to  be  inhabited 
by  human  creatures,  and  I  believe  would  never  have  been  so 
without  the  cruel  civil  war  between  the  Guelphs  and  Ghibellines. 
Before  that  time  here  were  only  the  huts  of  a  few  fishermen, 
who  came  at  certain  seasons  on  account  of  the  fine  fish  with 
which  this  lake  abounds,  particularly  trouts,  as  large  and  red 
as  salmon.  The  lake  itself  is  different  from  any  other  I  ever 
saw  or  read  of,  being  the  color  of  the  sea,  rather  deeper 
tinged  with  green,  which  convinces  me  that  the  surrounding 
mountains  are  full  of  minerals,  and  it  may  be  rich  in  mines 
yet  undiscovered,  as  well  as  quarries  of  marble,  from  whence 
the  churches  and  houses  are  ornamented,  and  even  the  streets 
paved,  which,  if  polished  and  laid  with  art,  would  look  like 
the  finest  mosaic  work,  being  a  variety  of  beautiful  colors.  I 
ought  to  retract  the  honorable  title  of  street,  none  of  them 
being  broader  than  an  alley,  and  impassable  for  any  wheel- 
carriage,  except  a  wheel-ban ow.  This  town,  which  is  the 
largest  of  twenty-five  that  are  built  on  the  banks  of  the  lake 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  255 

of  Isco,  is  near  two  miles  long,  and  the  figure  of  a  semicircle, 
and  situated  at  the  northern  extremity.  If  it  was  a  regular 
range  of  building,  it  would  appear  magnificent;  but  being 
founded  accidentally  by  those  who  sought  a  refuge  from  the 
violence  of  those  times,  it  is  a  mixture  of  shops  and  palaces, 
gardens  and  houses,  which  ascend  a  mile  high,  in  a  confusion 
which  is  not  disagreeable.  After  this  salutary  water  was  found, 
and  the  purity  of  the  air  experienced,  many  people  of  quality 
chose  it  for  their  summer  residence,  and  embellished  it  with 
several  fine  edifices.  It  was  populous  and  flourishing  till  that 
fatal  plague,  which  overran  all  Europe  in  the  year  1626.  It 
made  a  terrible  ravage  in  this  place :  the  poor  were  almost 
destroyed,  and  the  rich  deserted  it.  Since  that  time  it  has 
never  recovered  its  former  splendor ;  few  of  the  nobility  re- 
turned ;  it  is  now  only  frequented  during  the  water-drinking 
season.  Several  of  the  ancient  palaces  are  degraded  into 
lodging-houses,  and  others  stand  empty  in  a  ruinous  condition  : 
one  of  these  I  have  bought.  I  see  you  lift  up  your  eyes  in 
wonder  at  my  indiscretion.  I  beg  you  to  hear  my  reasons  be- 
fore you  condemn  me.  In  my  infirm  state  of  health  the  un- 
avoidable noise  of  a  public  lodging  is  very  disagreeable  ;  and 
here  is  no  private  one :  secondly,  and  chiefly,  the  whole  pur- 
chase is  but  one  hundred  pounds,  with  a  very  pretty  garden 
in  terraces  down  to  the  water,  and  a  court  behind  the  house. 
It  is  founded  on  a  rock,  and  the  walls  so  thick  they  will  prob- 
ably remain  as  long  as  the  earth.  It  is  true  the  apartments 
are  in  most  tattered  circumstances,  without  doors  or  windows. 
The  beauty  of  the  great  saloon  gained  my  affection  :  it  is  forty- 
two  feet  in  length  by  twenty-five,  proportionably  high,  opening 
into  a  balcony  of  the  same  length,  with  a  marble  balluster : 
the  ceiling  and  flooring  are  in  good  repair,  but  I  have  been 
forced  to  the  expense  of  covering  the  wall  with  new  stucco ; 
and  the  carpenter  is  at  this  minute  taking  measure  of  the 
windows  in  order  to  make  frames  for  sashes.  The  great  stairs 
are  in  such  a  declining  way  it  would  be  a  very  hazardous  ex- 
ploit to  mount  them  :  I  never  intend  to  attempt  it.    The  state 


256  LETTERS     TO 

bed-chamber  shall  also  remain  for  the  sole  use  of  the  spiders 
that  have  taken  possession  of  it,  along  with  the  grand  cabinet, 
aud  some  other  pieces  of  magnificence  quite  useless  to  me, 
and  which  would  cost  a  great  deal  to  make  habitable.  I  have 
fitted  up  six  rooms  with  lodgings  for  five  servants,  which  are 
all  I  ever  will  have  in  this  place  :  and  I  am  persuaded"  that  I 
could  make  a  profit  if  I  would  part  with  my  purchase,  having 
been  very  much  favored  in  the  sale,  which  was  by  auction, 
the  owner  having  died  without  children,  and  I  believe  he  had 
never  seen  this  mansion  in  his  life,  it  having  stood  empty  from 
the  death,  of  his  grandfather.  The  governor  bid  for  me,  and 
nobody  would  bid  against  him.  Thus  I  am  become  a  citizen 
of  Louvere,  to  the  great  joy  of'  the  inhabitants,  not  (as  they 
would  pretend)  from  their  respect  for  my  person,  but  I  per- 
ceive they  fancy  I  shall  attract  all  the  traveling  English ;  and, 
to  say  truth,  the  singularity  of  the  place  is  well  worth  their 
curiosity ;  but,  as  I  have  no  correspondents,  I  may  be 
buried  here  thirty  years,  and  nobody  know  any  thing  of  the 
matter. 

I  received  the  books  you  were  so  kind  to  send  me,  five  days 
ago,  but  not  the  china,  which  I  would  not  venture  among  the 
precipices  that  lead  hither.  I  have  only  had  time  to  read  Lord 
Orrery's  work,  which  has  extremely  entertained,  and  not  at  all 
surprised  me,  having  the  honor  of  being  acquainted  with  him, 
and  know  him  for  one  of  those  danglers  after  wit,  who,  like 
those  after  beauty,  spend  their  time  in  humbly  admiring,  and 
are  happy  in  being  permitted  to  attend,  though  they  are 
laughed  at  and  only  encouraged  to  gratify  the  insatiate  vanity 
of  those  professed  wits  and  beauties  who  aim  at  being  pub- 
licly distinguished  in  those  characters.  Dean  Swift,  by  his 
lordship's  own  account,  was  so  intoxicated  with  the  love  of 
flattery,  he  sought  it  among  the  lowest  of  people,  and  the  sil- 
liest of  women ;  and  was  never  so  well  pleased  with  any  com- 
panions as  those  that  worshiped  him,  while  he  insulted  them. 
It  is  a  wonderful  condescension  in  a  man  of  quality  to  offer 
his  incense  in  such  a  crowd,  and  think  it  an  honor  to  share  a 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUT: 


257 


friendship  with  Sheridan,*  etc.,  especially  being  himself  en- 
dowed with  such  universal  merit  as  he  displays  in  these  Let- 
ters, where  he  shows  that  he  is  a  poet,  a  patriot,  a  philosopher, 
a  physician,  a  critic,  a  complete  scholar,  and  most  excellent 
moralist ;  shining  in  private  life  as  a  submissive  son,  a  tender 
father,  and  zealous  friend.  His  only  error  has  been  that  love 
of  learned  ease  which  he  has  indulged  in  a  solitude,  which 
has  prevented  the  world  from  being  blessed  with  such  a  general, 
minister,  or  admiral,  being  equal  to  any  of  these  employments, 
if  he  would  have  turned  his  talents  to  the  use  of  the  public. 
Heaven  be  praised,  he  has  now  drawn  his  pen  in  its  service, 
and  given  an  example  to  mankind,  that  the  most  villainous 
actions,  nay  the  most  arrant  nonsense,  are  only  small  blem- 
ishes in  a  great  genius.  I  happen  to  think  quite  contrary, 
weak  woman  as  I  am.  I  have  always  avoided  the  conversa- 
tion of  those  who  endeavor  to  raise  an  opinion  of  their  under- 
standing by  ridiculing  what  both  law  and  decency  obliges  them 
to  revere  ;  but  whenever  I  have  met  with  any  of  those  bright 
spirits,  who  would  be  smart  on  sacred  subjects,  I  have  ever  cut 
short  their  discourse  by  asking  them  if  they  had  any  lights 
and  revelations  by  which  they  would  propose  new  articles  of 
faith  ?  Nobody  can  deny  but  religion  is  a  comfort  to  the  dis- 
tressed, a  cordial  to  the  sick,  and  sometimes  a  restraint  on  the 
wicked ;  therefore,  whoever  would  argue  or  laugh  it  out  of 
the  world,  without  giving  some  equivalent  for  it,  ought  to  be 
treated  as  a  common  enemy :  but,  when  this  language  comes 
from  a  churchman,  who  enjoys  large  benefices  and  dignities 
from  that  very  Church  he  openly  despises,  it  is  an  object  of 
horror  for  which  I  want  a  name,  and  can  only  be  excused  by 
madness,  which  I  think  the  Dean  was  always  strongly  touched 
with.  His  character  seems  to  me  a  parallel  with  that  of 
Caligula  ;  and  had  he  had  the  same  power,  would  have  made 
the  same  use  of  it.  That  emperor  erected  a  temple  to  him- 
self, where  he  was  his  own  high-priest,  preferred  his  horse  to 

*  Dr.  Thomas  Sheridan,  the  grandfather  of  R.  Brinsley  Sheridan, 


258  LETTERS    TO 

the  highest  honors  in  the  state,  professed  enmity  to  the  human 
race,  and  at  last  lost  his  life  by  a  nasty  jest  on  one  of  his  infe- 
riors, which  I  dare  swear  Swift  would  have  made  in  his  place. 
There  can  be  no  worse  picture  made  of  the  Doctor's  morals 
than  he  has  given  us  himself  in  the  letters  printed  by  Pope. 
We  see  him  vain,  trifling,  ungrateful  to    the   memory  of  his 
patron,  that  of  Lord  Oxford,  making  a  servile  court  where  he 
had  any  interested  views,  and  meanly  abusive  where  they  were 
disappointed,  and,  as  he  says  (in  his  own  phrase)  flying  in  the 
face  of  mankind,  in  company  with  his  adorer   Pope.     It  is 
pleasant  to  consider,  that  had  it  not  been  for  the  good  nature 
of  these  very  mortals  they  contemn,  these  two  superior  beings 
were  entitled,  by  their  birth  and  hereditary  fortune,  to  be  only 
a  couple  of  link-boys.     I  am  of  opinion  their  friendship  would 
have  continued,  though  they  had  remained  in  the  same  king- 
dom :  it  had  a  very  strong  foundation — the  love  of  flattery  on 
one  side,  and  the  love  of  money  on  the  other.     Pope  courted 
with  the  utmost  assiduity  all  the  old   men  from  whom  he 
could  hope   a  legacy,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  Lord  Peter- 
borough, Sir  G-.  Kneiier,  Lord  Bolingbroke,  Mr.  Wycherly, 
Mr.  Congreve,  Lord  Harcourt,  etc.,   and  I  do  not  doubt  pro- 
jected to  sweep  the  Dean's  whole  inheritance,  if  he  could 
have  persuaded  him  to  throw  up  his  deanery,  and  come  to  die 
in  his  house ;  and  his  general  preaching  against  money  was 
meant  to  induce  people  to  throw  it  away,  that  he  might  pick 
it  up.     There  can  not  be  a  stronger  proof  of  his  being  capable 
of  any  action  for  the  sake  of  gain  than  publishing  his  literary 
correspondence,  which  lays  open  such  a  mixture   of  dullness 
and  iniquity  that  one  would  imagine  it  visible  even  to  his 
most  passionate  admirers,  if  Lord  Orrery  did  not  show  that 
smooth  lines  have  as  much  influence  over  some  people  as  the 
authority  of  the  Church  in  these  countries,  where  it  can  not 
only  excuse,  but  sanctify  any  absurdity  of  villainy  whatever. 
It  is  remarkable  that  his  lordship's  family  have  been  smat- 
terers  in  wit  and  learning  for  three  generations :  his  grand- 
father has  left  monuments  of  hi  5  good  taste  in  several  rhyming 


THE    COUNTESS    OF    BUTE.  259 

tragedies,  and  the  romance  of  Parthenissa.  H :&  father  began 
the  world  by  giving  his  name  to  a  treatise  wrote  by  Atter- 
bury  and  his  club,  which  gave  him  great  reputation ;  but  (like 
Sir  Martin  Marall,  who  would  fumble  with  his  lute  when  the 
music  was  over)  he  published  soon  after  a  sad  comedy  of  his 
own,  and,  what  was  worse,  a  dismal  tragedy  he  had  found 
among  the  first  Earl  of  Orrery's  papers.  People  could  easier 
forgive  his  being  partial  to  his  own  silly  works,  as  a  common 
frailty,  than  the  want  of  judgment  in  producing  a  piece  that 
dishonored  his  father's  memory. 

Thus  fell  into  dust  a  fame  that  had  made  a  blaze  by  bor- 
rowed fire.  To  do  justice  to  the  present  lord,  I  do  not  doubt 
this  fine  performance  is  all  his  own,  and  is  a  public  benefit,  if 
every  reader  has  been  as  well  diverted  with  it  as  myself.  I 
verily  believe  it  has  contributed  to  the  establishment  of  my 
health. 

I  wrote  two  long  letters  to  your  father,  to  which  I  have 
had  no  answer.  I  hope  he  is  well.  The  prosperity  of  you 
and  yours  is  the  warmest  wish  of,  my  dear  child,  your  most 
affectionate  mother. 

This  letter  is  of  a  horrible  length  ;  I  dare  not  read  it  over. 
I  should  have  told  you  (to  justify  my  folly  as  far  as  I  can), 
here  is  no  ground-rent  to  be  paid,  taxes  for  Church  and  poor, 
or  any  imposition  whatever,  on  houses.  I  desire,  in  the  next 
parcel,  you  would  send  me  Lady  Frail,  the  Adventures  of  G. 
Edwards,  and  the  Life  of  Lord  Stair,  which  I  suppose  very 
superficial,  and  partly  fictitious ;  but  as  he  was  my  acquaint- 
ance, I  have  some  curiosity  to  see  how  he  is  represented. 


LETTER  X. 

March  1,  K  S.,  1752. 
Dear  Child — I  have  now  finished  your  books,  and  I  be- 
lieve you  will  think  I  have  made  quick  dispatch.     To  say 
truth,  I  have  read  night  and  day.     Mr.  Loveill  gave  me  some 


2G0  LETTERS    TO 

entertainment,  though  there  is  but  one  character  in  it  that  I 
can  find  out.  I  do  not  doubt  Mr.  Depy  is  designed  for  Sir  J. 
R.  The  adventure  mentioned  at  Rome  really  happened  to 
him,  with  this  addition,  that  after  he  was  got  quit  of  his  foar 
of  being  suspected  in  the  interest  of  the  P.,  he  endeavored 
to  manifest  his  loyalty  by  railing  at  him  in  all  companies,  with 
all  the  warmth  imaginable,  on  which  his  companions  per- 
suaded him  that  his  death  was  absolutely  determined  by  that 
court ;  and  he  durst  not  stir  out  for  some  time,  for  fear  of 
being  assassinated ;  nor  eat,  for  fear  of  being  poisoned.  I  saw 
him  at  Venice,  where,  on  hearing  it  said  I  had  been  at  Con- 
stantinople, he  asked  Lord  Mansel  by  what  accident  I  made 
that  journey.  He  answered,  Mr.  Wortley  had  been  embas- 
sador to  the  Porte.  Sir  J.  replied,  to  what  port  ?  the  port  of 
Leghorn !  I  could  relate  many  speeches  of  his  of  equal  beauty, 
but  I  believe  you  are  already  tired  of  hearing  of  him,  as  much 
as  I  was  with  the  memoirs  of  Miss  H.  Stewart  ;*  who,  being 
intended  for  an  example  of  wit  and  virtue,  is  a  jilt  and  a  fool 
in  every  page.  But  while  I  was  indolently  perusing  the  mar- 
velous figures  she  exhibits,  no  more  resembling  any  thing  in 
human  nature  than  the  wooden  cut  in  the  Seven  Champions, 
I  was  roused  into  great  surprise  and  indignation  by  the  mon- 
strous abuse  of  one  of  the  very  few  women  I  have  a  real  value 
for ;  I  mean  Lady  B.  Finch  ;f  who  is  not  only  clearly  meant 
by  the  mention  of  her  library  (she  being  the  only  lady  at  court 
that  has  one),  but  her  very  name  at  length  ;  she  being  christened 
Csecilia  Isabella,  though  she  chooses  to  be  called  by  the  latter. 
I  always  thought  her  conduct,  in  every  light,  so  irreproachable, 
I  did  not  think  she  had  an  enemy  upon  earth ;  I  now  see  'tis 
impossible  to  avoid  them,  especially  in  her  situation.    It  is  one 

*  "  Harriet  Stewart"  was  the  first  novel  written  by  Mrs.  Charlotte 
Lennox,  and  certainly  a  very  indifferent  one. 

■J-  Lady  Belle  Finch,  one  of  the  many  daughters  of  Lord  Nottingham 
(Swift's  "Dismal"),  who  before  his  death  succeeded  to  the  older  title  of 
Winchelsea.  She  was  sister  to  the  Duchess  of  Roxburgh,  the  Duchess 
of  Cleveland,  Lady  Mansfield,  Lady  Rockingham,  etc. ;  and  was  Lady 
of  the  Bedchamber  to  the  Princess  Amelia. 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  261 

of  the  misfortunes  of  a  supposed  court  interest  (perhaps  you 
may  know  it  by  experience),  even  the  people  you  have  obliged 
hate  you,  if  they  do  not  think  you  have  served  to  the  utmost 
extent  of  a  power  that  they  fancy  you  are  possessed  of ;  which 
it  may  be  is  only  imaginary. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  forgive  Jo.  Thompson  two  volumes  of 
absurdities,  for  the  sake  of  justice  he  has  done  to  the  memory 
of  the  Duke  of  Montagu;  who  really  had  (in  my  opinion)  one 
of  the  most  humane  dispositions  that  ever  appeared  in  the 
world.  I  was  such  an  old  fool  as  to  weep  over  Clarissa  Har- 
lowe,  like  any  milkmaid  of  sixteen  over  the  ballad  of  the  Lady's 
Fall.  To  say  truth,  the  first  volume  softened  me  by  a  near 
resemblance  of  my  maiden  days ;  but  on  the  whole  'tis  most 
miserable  stuff.  Miss  How,  who  is  called  a  young  lady  of  sense 
and  honor,  is  not  only  extreme  silly,  but  a  more  vicious  char- 
acter than  Sally  Martin ;  whose  crimes  are  owing  at  first  to  se- 
duction, and  afterward  to  necessity :  while  this  virtuous  damsel, 
without  any  reason,  insults  her  mother  at  home,  and  ridicules 
her  abroad  :  abuses  the  man  she  marries,  and  is  impertinent 
and  impudent  with  great  applause.  Even  that  model  of  per- 
fection Clarissa  is  so  faulty  in  her  behavior  as  to  deserve  little 
compassion.  Any  girl  that  runs  away  with  a  young  fellow, 
without  intending  to  marry  him,  should  be  carried  to  Bridewell 
or  to  Bedlam  the  next  day.  Yet  the  circumstances  are  so  laid 
as  to  inspire  tenderness,  notwithstanding  the  low  style  and  ab- 
surd incidents ;  and  I  look  upon  this  and  Pamela  to  be  two 
books  that  will  do  more  general  mischief  than  the  works  of 
Lord  Rochester.  There  is  something  humorous  in  R.  Random 
that  makes  me  believe  that  the  author  is  H.  Fielding.  I  am 
horribly  afraid,  I  guess  too  well  the  writer  of  those  abominable 
insipidities  of  Cornelia,  Leonora,  and  the  Ladies'  Drawing 
Room.  I  fancy  you  are  now  saying,  'tis  a  sad  thing  to  grow 
old ;  what  does  my  poor  mamma  mean  by  troubling  me  with 
criticisms  on  books,  that  nobody  but  herself  will  ever  read? 
You  must  allow  something  to  my  solitude.  I  have  a  pleasure 
n  writing  to  my  dear  child,  and  not  many  subjects  to  write 


262  LETTERS     TO 

upon.  The  adventures  of  people  here  would  not  at  all  amuse 
you,  having  no  acquaintance  with  the  persons  concerned  ;  and 
an  account  of  myself  would  hardly  gain  credit,  after  having 
fairly  owned  to  you  how  deplorably  I  was  misled  in  regard  to 
my  own  health ;  though  I  have  all  my  life  been  on  my  guard 
against  the  information  by  the  sense  of  hearing ;  it  being  one 
of  my  earliest  observations,  the  universal  inclination  of  human- 
kind is  to  be  led  by  the  ears ;  and  I  am  sometimes  apt  to 
imagine  that  they  are  given  to  men,  as  they  are  to  pitchers, 
purposely  that  they  may  be  carried  about  by  them.  This  con- 
sideration should  abate  my  wonder  to  see  (as  I  do  here)  the 
most  astonishing;  legends  embraced  as  the  most  sacred  truths, 
by  those  who  have  always  heard  them  asserted,  and  never  con- 
tradicted ;  they  even  place  a  merit  in  complying,  in  direct  op- 
position to  the  evidence  of  all  their  other  senses. 

I  am  very  much  pleased  with  the  account  you  give  me  of 
your  father's  health.  I  hope  your  own,  and  that  of  your 
family,  is  perfect ;  give  my  blessing  to  your  little  ones,  and  my 
compliments  to  Lord  Bute. 


LETTER  XI. 

Louvere,  Aug.  20,  1*752. 
My  Dear  Child — 'Tis  impossible  to  tell  you  to  what  degree 
I  share  with  you  in  the  misfortune  that  has  happened.  I  do 
not  doubt  your  own  reason  will  suggest  to  you  all  the  allevia- 
tions that  can  serve  on  so  sad  an  occasion,  and  will  not  trouble 
you  with  the  common-place  topics  that  are  used,  generally  to 
no  purpose,  in  letters  of  consolation.  Disappointments  ought 
to  be  less  sensibly  felt  at  my  age  than  yours ;  yet  I  own  I  am 
fto  far  affected  by  this  that  I  have  need  of  all  my  philosophy  to 
support  it.  However,  let  me  beg  of  you  not  to  indulge  a  use- 
less grief,  to  the  prejudice  of  your  health,  which  is  so  necessary 
to  your  family.  Every  thing  may  turn  out  better  than  you 
expect.     We  see  so  darkly  into  futurity,  we  never  know  when 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  263 

we  have  real  cause  to  rejoice  or  lament.  The  worst  appearances 
have  often  happy  consequences,  as  the  best  lead  many  times 
into  the  greatest  misfortunes.  Human  prudence  is  very  straitly 
bounded.  What  is  most  in  our  power,  though  little  so,  is  the 
disposition  of  our  own  minds.  Do  not  give  way  to  melancholy ; 
seek  amusements ;  be  willing  to  be  diverted,  and  insensibly  you 
will  become  so.  Weak  people  only  place  a  merit  in  affliction. 
A  grateful  remembrance,  and  whatever  honor  we  can  pay  to 
their  memory,  is  all  that  is  owing  to  the  dead.  Tears  and  sor- 
row are  no  duties  to  them,  and  make  us  incapable  of  those  we 
owe  to  the  living. 

I  give  you  thanks  for  your  care  of  my  books.  I  yet  retain, 
and  carefully  cherish,  my  taste  for  reading.  If  relays  of  eyes 
were  to  be  hired  like  posthorses,  I  would  never  admit  any  but 
silent  companions :  they  afford  a  constant  variety  of  entertain- 
ment, which  is  almost  the  only  one  pleasing  in  the  enjoyment, 
and  inoffensive  in  the  consequence. 


LETTER  XII. 

Brescia,  October  10,  1152. 
This  letter  will  be  very  dull  or  very  peevish  (perhaps  both). 
I  am  at  present  much  out  of  humor,  being  on  the  edge  of  a 
quarrel  with  my  friend  and  patron,  the  Cardinal  Querini.* 
He  is  really  a  good-natured  and  generous  man,  and  spends  his 
vast  revenue  in  (what  he  thinks)  the  service  of  his  country, 
besides  contributing  largely  to  the  building  a  new  cathedral, 
which,  when  finished,  will  stand  in  the  first  rank  of  fine 
churches  (where  he  has  already  the  comfort  of  seeing  his  own 
busto,  finely  done  both  within  and  without).  He  has  founded 
a  magnificent  college  for  one  hundred  scholars,  which  I  don't 
doubt  he  will  endow  very  nobly,  and  greatly  enlarged  and  em- 

*  Cardinal  Angelo  Maria  Querini.  He  published  the  works  of  St. 
Ephrem  Syr  us,  in  six  volumes,  folio,  1732  ;  and  the  Life  of  Pope  Paul 
II.,  quarto,  1740.     See  de  Bure,  Bibliographie  Instructive,  etc. 


264  LETTERS      TO 

bellished  his  episcopal  palace.  He  has  joined  to  it  a  public 
library,  which,  when  I  saw  it,  was  a  very  beautiful  room :  it  is 
now  finished,  furnished,  and  open  twice  in  a  week  with  proper 
attendance.  Yesterday  here  arrived  one  of  his  chief  chaplains, 
with  a  long  compliment,  which  concluded  with  desiring  I  would 
send  him  my  works ;  having  dedicated  one  of  his  cases  to  En- 
glish books,  he  intended  my  labors  should  appear  iu  the  most 
conspicuous  place.  I  was  struck  dumb  for  some  time  with  this 
astonishing  request ;  when  I  recovered  my  vexatious  surprise 
(foreseeing  the  consequence),  I  made  answer  I  was  highly- 
sensible  of  the  honor  designed  me,  but,  upon  my  word,  I  had 
never  printed  a  single  line  in  my  life.  I  was  answered  in  a 
cold  tone,  that  his  Eminence  could  send  for  them  to  England, 
but  they  would  be  a  long  time  coming,  and  with  some  hazard ; 
and  that  he  had  flattered  himself  I  would  not  refuse  him  such 
a  favor,  and  I  need  not  be  ashamed  of  seeing  my  name  in  a 
collection  where  he  admitted  none  but  the  most  eminent  authors. 
It  was  to  no  purpose  to  endeavor  to  convince  him.  He  would 
not  stay  dinner,  though  earnestly  invited ;  and  went  away  with 
the  air  of  one  that  thought  he  had  reason  to  be  offended.  I 
know  his  master  will  have  the  same  sentiments,  and  I  shall  pass 
in  his  opinion  for  a  monster  of  ingratitude,  while  it  is  the 
blackest  of  vices,  in  my  opinion,  and  of  which  I  am  utterly  in- 
capable— I  really  could  cry  for  vexation. 

Sure  nobody  ever  had  such  various  provocations  to  print  as 
myself.  I  have  seen  things  I  have  wrote  so  mangled  and  falsi- 
fied I  have  scarce  known  them.  I  have  seen  poems  I  never 
read  published  with  my  name  at  length  ;  and  others,  that  were 
truly  and  singly  wrote  by  me,  printed  under  the  names  of  others. 
I  have  made  myself  easy  under  all  these  mortifications  by  the 
reflection  I  did  not  deserve  them,  having  never  aimed  at  the 
vanity  of  popular  applause ;  but  I  own  my  philosophy  is  not 
proof  against  losing  a  friend,  and  it  may  be  making  an  enemy 
of  one  to  whom  I  am  obliged. 

I  confess  I  have  often  been  complimented,  since  I  have  been 
in  Italy,  on  the  books  I  have  given  the  public.     I  used  at  first 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  265 

to  deny  it  with  some  warmth  ;  but  finding  I  persuaded  nobody, 
I  have  of  late  contented  myself  with  laughing  whenever  I  heard 
it  mentioned,  knowing  the  character  of  a  learned  woman  is  far 
from  being  ridiculous  in  this  country,  the  greatest  families  being 
proud  of  having  produced  female  writers ;  and  a  Milanese  lady 
being  now  professor  of  mathematics  in  the  University  of  Bo- 
logna, invited  thither  by  a  most  obliging  letter,  wrote  by  the 
present  Pope,  who  desired  her  to  accept  of  the  chair,  not  as  a 
recompense  for  her  merit,  but  to  do  honor  to  a  town  which  is 
under  his  protection.  To  say  truth,  there  is  no  part  of  the 
world  where  our  sex  is  treated  with  so  much  contempt  as  in 
England.  I  do  not  complain  of  men  for  having  engrossed  the 
government ;  in  excluding  from  us  all  degrees  of  power,  they 
preserve  us  from  many  fatigues,  many  dangers,  and  perhaps 
many  crimes.  The  small  proportion  of  authority  that  has  fallen 
to  my  share  (only  over  a  few  children  and  servants)  has  always 
been  a  burden,  and  never  a  pleasure,  and  I  believe  every  one 
finds  it  so,  who  acts  from  a  maxim  (I  think  an  indispensable 
duty)  that  whoever  is  under  my  power  is  under  my  protection. 
Those  who  find  a  joy  in  inflicting  hardships,  and  seeing  ob- 
jects of  misery,  may  have  other  sensations ;  but  I  have  always 
thought  corrections,  even  when  necessary,  as  painful  to  the 
giver  as  to  the  sufferer,  and  am  therefore  very  well  satisfied 
with  the  state  of  subjection  we  are  placed  in  :  but  I  think  it 
the  highest  injustice  to  be  debarred  the  entertainment  of  my 
closet,  and  that  the  same  studies  which  raise  the  character  of 
a  man  should  hurt  that  of  a  woman.  We  are  educated  in  the 
grossest  ignorance,  and  no  art  omitted  to  stifle  our  natural 
reason ;  if  some  few  get  above  their  nurse's  instructions,  our 
knowledge  must  rest  concealed,  and  be  as  useless  to  the  world 
as  gold  in  the  mine.  I  am  now  speaking  according  to  our  En- 
glish notions,  which  may  wear  out,  some  ages  hence,  along 
with  others  equally  absurd.  It  appears  to  me  the  strongest 
proof  of  a  clear  understanding  in  Longinus  (in  every  light  ac- 
knowledged one  of  the  greatest  men  among  the  ancients),  when 
I  find  him  so  far  superior  to  vulgar  prejudices  as  to  choose  his 
12 


266  LETTERS     TO 

two  examples  of  fine  writing  from  a  Jew  (at  that  time  the 
most  despised  people  upon  earth)  and  a  woman.  Our  modern 
wits  would  be  so  far  from  quoting,  they  would  scarce  own  they 
had  read  the  works  of  such  contemptible  creatures,  though 
perhaps  they  would  condescend  to  steal  from  them,  at  the 
same  time  they  declared  they  were  below  their  notice :  this 
subject  is  apt  to  run  away  with  me  ;  I  will  trouble  you  with 
no  more  of  it. 


LETTER  XIII. 

Louvere,  Oct.  20,  N.  S.,  1T52. 
Dear  Child — I  have  now  read  over  Richardson — he  sinks 
horribly  in  his  third  volume  (he  does  so  in  his  story  of  Clarissa). 
When  he  talks  of  Italy,  it  is  plain  he  is  no  better  acquainted 
with  it  than  he  is  with  the  kingdom  of  Mancomingo.  He  might 
have  made  his  Sir  Charles's  amour  with  Clementina  begin  in  a 
convent,  where  the  pensioners  sometimes  take  great  liberties  ; 
but  that  such  familiarity  should  be  permitted  in  her  father's 
house,  is  as  repugnant  to  custom  as  it  would  be  in  London  for  a 
young  lady  of  quality  to  dance  on  the  ropes  at  Bartholomew 
fair  :  neither  does  his  hero  behave  to  her  in  a  manner  suitable 
to  his  nice  notions.  It  was  impossible  a  discerning  man  should 
not  see  her  passion  early  enough  to  check  it,  if  he  had  really  de- 
signed it.  His  conduct  puts  me  in  mind  of  some  ladies  I  have 
known,  who  could  never  find  out  a  man  to  be  in  love  with  them 
let  him  do  or  say  what  he  would,  till  he  made  a  direct  attempt 
and  then  they  were  so  surprised,  I  warrant  you  !  nor  do  I  ap- 
prove Sir  Charles's  offered  compromise  (as  he  calls  it).  There 
must  be  a  great  indifference  as  to  religion  on  both  sides,  to 
make  so  strict  a  union  as  marriage  tolerable  between  people  of 
such  distinct  persuasions.  He  seems  to  think  women  have  no 
souls,  by  agreeing  so  easy  that  his  daughters  should  be  edu- 
cated in  bigotry  and  idolatry.  You  will  perhaps  think  this  last 
a  hard  word ;  yet  it  is  not  difficult  to  prove  that  either  the 
papists  are  guilty  of  idolatry,  or  the  pagans  never  were  so, 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  267 

You  may  see,  in  Lucian  (in  his  vindication  of  Lis  images),  that 
they  did  not  take  their  statues  to  be  real  gods,  but  only  the 
representation  of  them.  The  same  doctrine  may  be  found  in 
Plutarch ;  and  it  is  all  the  modern  priests  have  to  say  in  excuse 
for  their  worshiping  wood  and  stone,  though  they  can  not  deny 
at  the  same  time  that  the  vulgar  are  apt  to  confound  that  dis- 
tinction. I  always,  if  possible,  avoid  controversial  disputes : 
whenever  I  can  not  do  it,  they  are  very  short.  I  ask  my  ad- 
versary if  he  believes  the  Scripture ;  when  that  is  answered 
affirmatively,  their  Church  may  be  proved  by  a  child  of  ten 
years  old  contradictory  to  it,  in  their  most  important  points. 
My  second  question  is,  if  they  think  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul 
knew  the  true  Christian  religion  1  The  constant  reply  is,  O 
res.  Then,  say  I,  purgatory,  transubstantiation,  invocation  of 
saints,  adoration  of  the  Virgin,  relics  (of  which  they  might 
have  had  a  cart-load),  and  observation  of  Lent,  is  no  part  of 
it,  since  they  neither  taught  nor  practiced  any  of  these  things. 
Vows  of  celibacy  are  not  more  contrary  to  nature  than  to  the 
positive  precept  of  St.  Paul.  He  mentions  a  very  common 
case,  in  which  people  are  obliged,  by  conscience,  to  marry. 
No  mortals  can  promise  that  case  shall  never  be  theirs,  which 
depends  on  the  disposition  of  the  body  as  much  as  a  fever ; 
and  'tis  as  reasonable  to  engage  never  to  feel  the  one  as  the 
other.  He  tells  us,  the  marks  of  the  Holy  Spirit  are  charity, 
humility,  truth,  aad  long-suffering.  Can  any  thing  be  more 
uncharitable  than  damning  eternally  so  many  millions  for  not 
believing  what  they  never  heard  ?  or  prouder  than  calling  their 
head  a  Vice-God  ?  Pious  frauds  are  avowedly  permitted,  and 
persecution  applauded.  These  maxims  can  not  be  dictated 
by  the  spirit  of  peace,  which  is  so  warmly  preached  in  the 
Gospel.  The  creeds  of  the  apostles,  and  Council  of  Nice,  do 
not  speak  of  the  mass,  or  real  presence,  as  articles  of  belief ; 
and  Athanasius  asserts,  whosoever  believes  according  to  them 
shall  be  saved.  Jesus  Christ,  in  answer  to  the  lawyer  bids 
him  love  God  above  all  things,  and  his  neighbor  as  himself, 
as  all  that  is  necessary  to  salvation.     When  he  describes  the 


268  LETTERS     TO 

last  judgment,  he  does  not  examine  what  sect,  or  what  Church 
men  were  of,  but  how  far  they  had  been  beneficial  to  mankind. 
Faith  can  not  determine  reward  or  punishment,  being  invol- 
untary, and  only  the  consequence  of  conviction.  We  do  not 
believe  what  we  please,  but  what  appears  to  us  with  the  face 
of  truth.  As  I  do  not  mistake  exclamation,  invective,  or  rid- 
icule, for  argument,  I  never  recriminate  on  the  lives  of  their 
popes  and  cardinals,  when  they  urge  the  character  of  Henry 
/  the  Eighth ;  I  only  answer,  good  actions  are  often  done  by 
ill  men  through  interested  motives,  and  'tis  the  common 
method  of  Providence  to  bring  good  out  of  evil :  history, 
both  sacred  and  profane,  furnishes  many  examples  of  it. 
When  they  tell  me  I  have  forsook  the  worship  of  my  ances- 
tors, I  say  I  have  had  more  ancestors  heathen  than  Christian, 
an  J  my  faith  is  certainly  ancienter  than  theirs,  since  I  have 
added  nothing  to  the  practice  of  the  primitive  professors  of 
Chiistianity.  As  to  the  prosperity  or  extent  of  the  dominion 
of  their  Church,  which  Cardinal  Bellarmin  counts  among  the 
proofs  of  its  orthodoxy,  the  Mohammedans,  who  have  larger 
empires,  and  have  made  a  quicker  progress,  have  a  better  plea 
for  the  visible  protection  of  heaven.  If  the  fopperies  of  their 
religion  were  only  fopperies,  they  ought  to  be  complied  with 
whenever  it  is  established,  like  any  ridiculous  dress  in  fash- 
ion ;  but  I  think  them  impieties  ;  their  devotions  are  a  scan- 
dal to  humanity  from  their  nonsense  ;  the  mercenary  deceits, 
and  barbarous  tyranny  of  their  ecclesiastics,  inconsistent  with 
moral  honesty.  If  they  object  to  the  diversity  of  our  sects 
as  a  mark  of  reprobation,  I  desire  them  to  consider  that  ob- 
jection has  equal  force  against  Christianity  in  general.  When 
they  thunder  with  the  names  of  fathers  and  councils,  they 
are  surprised  to  find  me  as  well  (often  better)  acquainted  with 
them  than  themselves.  I  show  them  the  variety  of  their  doc- 
trines, their  violent  contests,  and  various  factions,  instead  of 
that  union  they  boast  of.  I  have  never  been  attacked  a  sec- 
ond time  in  any  of  the  towns  where  I  have  resided,  and  per- 
haps shall  never  be  so  again  after  my  last  battle,  which  was 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  269 

with  an  old  priest,  a  learned  man,  particularly  esteemed  as  a 
mathematician,  and  who  has  a  head  and  heart  as  warm  as 
poor  Whiston's.  When  I  first  came  here,  he  visited  me  every- 
day, and  talked  of  me  every  where  with  such  violent  praise 
that,  had  we  been  young  people,  God  knows  what  would  have 
been  said.  I  have  always  the  advantage  of  being  quite  calm 
on  a  subject  which  they  can  not  talk  of  without  heat.  He 
desired  I  would  put  on  paper  what  I  had  said.  I  immedi- 
ately wrote  one  side  of  a  sheet,  leaving  the  other  for  his  an- 
swer. He  carried  it  with  him,  promising  to  bring  it  the  next 
day,  since  which  time  I  have  never  seen  it,  though  I  have 
often  demanded  it,  being  ashamed  of  my  defective  Italian. 
I  fancy  he  sent  it  to  his  friend  the  Archbishop  of  Milan.  I 
have  given  over  asking  for  it,  as  a  desperate  debt.  He  still 
visits  me,  but  seldom,  and  in  a  cold  sort  of  a  way.  When 
I  have  found  disputants  I  less  respected,  I  have  sometimes 
taken  pleasure  in  raising  their  hopes  by  my  concessions : 
they  are  charmed  when  I  agree  with  them  in  the  number  of 
the  sacraments ;  but  are  horribly  disappointed  when  I  explain 
myself  by  saying  the  word  sacrament  is  not  to  be  found 
either  in  Old  or  New  Testament ;  and  one  must  be  very  igno- 
rant not  to  know  it  is  taken  from  the  'listing  oath  of  the  Ro- 
man soldiers,  and  means  nothing  more  than  a  solemn,  irrevoc- 
able engagement.  Parents  vow,  in  infant  baptism,  to  educate 
their  children  in  the  Christian  religion,  which  they  take  upon 
themselves  by  confirmation ;  the  Lord's  Supper  is  frequently 
renewing  the  same  oath.  Ordination  and  matrimony  are  sol- 
emn vows  of  a  different  kind :  confession  includes  a  vow  of 
revealing  all  we  know,  and  reforming  what  is  amiss  :  extreme 
unction,  the  last  vow,  that  we  have  lived  in  the  faith  we  were 
baptized.  In  this  sense  they  are  all  sacraments.  As  to  the 
mysteries  preached  since,  they  were  all  invented  long  after, 
and  some  of  them  repugnant  to  the  primitive  institution. 
This  digression  has  carried  me  far  from  my  criticism.  You 
will  laugh  at  my  making  any  on  a  work  below  examination, 
It  may  be  of  use  to  my  grand-daughters.     I  am  persuaded 


270  LETTERS     TO 

he  is  a  favorite  author  in  all  the  nurseries  in  England,  and 
has  done  much  harm  in  the  boarding  schools,  therefore  ouodit 
to  have  his  absurdities  detected.  You  will  think  me  angry 
with  him  for  repeating  a  saying  of  mine,  accompanied  with 
a  description  of  my  person,  which  resembles  me  as  much  as 
one  of  the  giants  in  Guildhall,  and  plainly  shows  he  never 
saw  me  in  his  life.  Indeed,  I  think,  after  being  so  many 
years  dead  and  buried,  I  might  be  suffered  to  enjoy  the  right 
of  the  departed,  and  rest  in  peace.  I  can  not  guess  how  I 
can  possibly  have  incurred  his  indignation,  except  he  takes 
for  truth  the  literary  correspondence  between  me  and  the  Mrs. 
Argens,  whom  I  never  saw,  and  who,  with  many  high  compli- 
ments, have  attributed  to  me  sentiments  that  never  came  into 
my  head,  and  among  them  a  criticism  on  Pamela,  who  is, 
however,  more  favorably  treated  than  she  deserves. 

The  book  of  letters  I  mention  never  came  to  my  hands  till 
some  time  after  it  was  printed,  accidentally  at  Toulouse.  I 
have  need  of  all  my  philosophy  on  these  occasions  ;  though, 
they  happen  so  often,  I  ought  to  be  accustomed  to  them. 
When  I  print,  I  submit  to  be  answered,  and  criticized  ;  but  as 
I  never  did,  'tis  hard  to  be  abused  for  other  people's  follies.  A 
light  thing  said  in  gay  company  should  not  be  called  upon  for 
a  serious  defense,  especially  when  it  injures  nobody.  It  is 
certain  there  are  as  many  marriages  as  ever.  Richardson  is 
so  eager  for  the  multiplication  of  them,  I  suppose  he  is  some 
parish  curate,  whose  chief  profit  depends  on  weddings  and 
christenings.  He  is  not  a  man-midwife ;  for  he  would  be 
better  skilled  in  physic  than  to  think  fits  and  madness  any 
ornament  to  the  characters  of  his  heroines  :  though  this  Sir 
Charles  had  no  thoughts  of  marrying  Clementine  till  she  had 
lost  her  wits,  and  the  divine  Clarissa  never  acted  prudently  till 
she  was  in  the  same  condition,  and  then  very  wisely  desired  to 
be  carried  to  Bedlam,  which  is  really  all  that  is  to  be  done  in 
that  case.  Madness  is  as  much  a  corporal  distemper  as  the 
gout  or  asthma,  never  occasioned  by  affliction,  or  to  be  cured 
by  the  enjoyment  of  extravagant  wishes.     Passion  may  indeed 


THE     COUNTESS     01'    BUTE.  2*71 

bring  on  a  fit,  but  the  disease  is  lodged  in  the  blood,  and  it  is 
not  more  ridiculous  to  attempt  to  relieve  the  gout  by  an  em- 
broidered slipper  than  to  restore  reason  by  the  gratification  of 
wild  desires. 

Kichardson  is  as  ignorant  in  morality  as  he  is  in  anatomy, 
when  he  declares  abusing  an  obliging  husband,  or  an  indulg- 
ent parent,  to  be  an  innocent  recreation.  His  Anna  How  and 
Charlotte  Grandison  are  recommended  as  patterns  of  charm- 
ing pleasantry,  and  applauded  by  his  saint-like  dames,  who 
mistake  folly  for  wit  and  humor,  and  impudence  and  ill-nature 
for  spirit  and  fire.  Charlotte  behaves  like  a  humorsome 
child,  and  should  have  been  used  like  one,  and  well  whipped 
in  the  presence  of  her  fiiendly  confidante  Harriet.  Lord  ILdi- 
fax  very  justly  tells  his  daughter  that  a  husband's  kindness  is 
to  be  received  by  a  wife,  even  when  he  is  drunk,  and  though 
it  is  wrapped  up  in  never  so  much  impertinence.  Charlotte 
acts  with  an  ingratitude  that  I  think  too  black  for  human  na- 
ture, with  such  coarse  jokes  and  low  expressions  as  are  only 
to  be  heard  among  the  lowest  class  of  people.  Women  of 
that  rank  often  plead  a  right  to  beat  their  husbands,  when 
they  don't  cuckold  them :  and  I  believe  this  author  was  never 
admitted  into  higher  company,  and  should  confine  his  pen  to 
the  amours  of  housemaids,  and  the  conversation  at  the  stew- 
ard's table,  where  I  imagine  he  has  sometimes  intruded, 
though  oftener  in  the  servants'  hall :  yet,  if  the  title  be  not  a 
puff,  this  work  has  passed  three  editions.  I  do  not  forgive 
him  his  disrespect  of  old  china,  which  is  below  nobody's 
taste,  since  it  has  been  the  Duke  of  Argyll's,  whose  understand- 
ing has  never  been  doubted  either  by  his  friends  or  enemies. 

Richardson  never  had  probably  money  enough  to  purchase 
any,  or  even  a  ticket  for  a  masquerade,  which  gives  him  such 
an  aversion  to  them  ;  though  his  intended  satire  against  them 
is  very  absurd  on  the  account  of  his  Harriet,  since  she  might 
have  been  carried  off  in  the  same  manner  if  she  had  been 
going  from  supper  with  her  grandam.  Her  whole  behavior, 
which  he  designs  to  be  exemplary,  is  equally  blamable  and 


272  LETTERS     TO 

ridiculous.  She  follows  the  maxim  of  Clarissa,  of  declaring 
all  she  thinks  to  all  the  people  she  sees,  without  reflecting  that 
in  this  mortal  state  of  imperfection,  fig-leaves  are  as  necessary 
for  our  minds  as  our  bodies,  and  'tis  as  indecent  to  show  all 
we  think  as  all  we  have.  He  has  no  idea  of  the  manners  of 
high  life  :  his  old  Lord  M.  talks  in  the  style  of  a  country  jus- 
tice, and  his  virtuous  young  ladies  romp  like  the  wenches 
round  a  May-pole.  Such  liberties  as  pass  between  Mr.  Love- 
lace and  his  cousins,  are  not  to  be  excused  by  the  relation.  I 
should  have  been  much  astonished  if  Lord  Denbigh  should 
have  offered  to  kiss  me ;  and  I  dare  swear  Lord  Treutham 
never  attempted  such  an  impertinence  to  you. 

With  all  my  contempt  I  will  take  notice  of  one  good  thing ; 
I  mean  his  project  of  an  English  monastery.  It  was  a  favorite 
scheme  of  mine  when  I  was  fifteen  ;  and  had  I  then  been 
mistress  of  an  independent  fortune,  would  certainly  have  exe- 
cuted it,  and  elected  myself  lady  abbess.  There  would  you 
and  your  ten  children  have  been  lost  forever.  Yet  such  was 
the  disposition  of  my  early  youth  :  so  much  was  I  unlike  those 
girls  that  declare,  if  they  had  been  born  of  the  male  kind 
they  should  have  been  great  rakes,  which  is  owning  they  have 
strong  inclinations  to and  drinking,  and  want  only  op- 
portunity and  impunity  to  exert  them  vigorously. 

This  tedious  miscellany  of  a  letter  is  promised  to  be  de- 
livered into  your  own  hand  ;  nay  further,  that  I  shall  have  an 
account  how  you  look,  how  you  are  dressed,  and  in  what 
manner  your  room  is  furnished.  Nothing  relating  to  you  is 
indifferent  to  me ;  and  if  the  performance  answers  the  engage- 
ment, it  will  be  a  vast  pleasure  to  your  most  affectionate  mother. 


LETTER  XIV. 

Louvere,  January  28,  N.  S.,  1753. 
Dear  Child — You  have  given  me  a  great  deal  of  satisfac- 
tion by  your  account  of  your  eldest  daughter.     I  am  partic- 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  2*73 

ularly  pleased  to  hear  she  is  a  good  arithmetician ;  it  is  the 
best  proof  of  understanding :  the  knowledge  of  numbers  is 
one  of  the  chief  distinctions  between  us  and  brutes.  If  there 
is  any  thing  in  blood,  you  may  reasonably  expect  your  chil-' 
dren  should  be  endowed  with  an  uncommon  share  of  good 
sense.  Mr.  Wortley's  family  and  mine  have  both  produced 
some  of  the  greatest  men  that  have  been  born  in  England :  I 
mean  Admiral  Sandwich,  and  my  grandfather,  who  was  dis- 
tinguished by  the  name  of  Wise  William.*  I  have  heard 
Lord  Bute's  father  mentioned  as  an  extraordinary  genius, 
though  he  had  not  many  opportunities  of  showing  it ;  and 
his  uncle,  the  present  Duke  of  Argyllf  has  one  of  the  best 
heads  I  ever  knew.  I  will  therefore  speak  to  you  as  suppos- 
ing Lady  Mary  not  only  capable,  but  desirous  of  learning :  in 
that  case  let  her  by  all  means  be  indulged  in  it.  You  will 
tell  me  I  did  not  make  it  a  part  of  your  education :  your 
prospect  was  very  different  from  hers.  As  you  had  much  in 
your  circumstances  to  attract  the  highest  offers,  it  seemed 
your  business  to  learn  how  to  live  in  the  world,  as  it  is  hers 
to  know  how  to  be  easy  out  of  it.  It  is  the  common  error 
of  builders  and  parents  to  follow  some  plan  they  think  beau- 
tiful (and  perhaps  is  so),  without  considering  that  nothing 
is  beautiful  which  is  displaced.  Hence  we  see  so  many  edi- 
fices raised  that  the  raisers  can  never  inhabit,  being  too  large 
for  their  fortunes.  Vistas  are  laid  open  over  barren  heaths, 
and  apartments  contrived  for  a  coolness  very  agreeable  in 
Italy,  but  killing  in  the  north  of  Britain  :  thus  every  woman 
endeavors  to  breed  her  daughter  a  fine  lady,  qualifying  her 
for  a  station  in  which  she  will  never  appear,  and  at  the  same 
time  incapacitating  her  for  that  retirement  to  which  she  is 
destined.     Learning,  if  she  has  a  real  taste  for  it,  will  not 

*  William  Pierrepoat,  second  son  of  Robert  Earl  of  Kingston,  died 
1619,  aged  11. 

\  The  Duke  of  Argyll  here  mentioned  was  Archibald,  who,  before 
he  succeeded  his  brother  John  Duke  of  Argyll  in  the  dukedom,  was 
Earl  of  Islay. 

12* 


274  LETTERS    TO 

only  make  her  contented,  but  happy  in  it.  No  entertainment 
is  so  cheap  as  reading,  nor  any  pleasure  so  lasting.  She  will 
not  want  new  fashions,  nor  regret  the  loss  of  expensive  diver- 
sions, or  variety  of  company,  if  she  can  be  amused  with  an 
author,  in  her  closet.  To  render  this  amusement  complete, 
she  should  be  permitted  to  learn  the  languages.  I  have  heard 
it  lamented  that  boys  lose  so  many  years  in  mere  learning  of 
words.  This  is  no  objection  to  a  girl,  whose  time  is  not  so 
precious.  She  can  not  advance  herself  in  any  profession,  and 
has,  therefore,  more  hours  to  spare ;  and  as  you  say  her 
memory  is  good,  she  will  be  very  agreeably  employed  in  this 
way.  There  are  two  cautions  to  be  given  on  this  subject : 
first,  not  to  think  herself  learned  when  she  can  read  Latin,  or 
even  Greek.  Languages  are  more  properly  to  be  called  vehi- 
cles of  learning  than  learning  itself,  as  may  be  observed  in 
many  schoolmasters,  who,  though  perhaps  critics  in  gram- 
mar, are  the  most  ignorant  fellows  upon  earth.  True  knowl- 
edge consists  in  knowing  things,  not  words.  I  would  no  fur- 
ther wish  her  a  linguist  than  to  enable  her  to  read  books  in 
their  originals,  that  are  often  corrupted,  and  are  always  in- 
jured by  translations.  Two  hours'  application  every  morning 
will  bring  this  about  much  sooner  than  you  can  imagine, 
and  she  will  have  leisure  enough  beside  to  run  over  the  En- 
glish poetry,  which  is  a  more  important  part  of  a  woman's 
education  than  it  is  generally  supposed.  Many  a  young 
damsel  has  been  ruined  by  a  fine  copy  of  verses,  which  she 
would  have  laughed  at  if  she  had  known  it  had  been  stolen 
from  Mr.  Waller.  I  remember,  when  I  was  a  girl,  I  saved 
one  of  my  companions  from  destruction  who  communicated 
to  me  an  epistle  she  was  quite  charmed  with.  As  she  had 
naturally  a  good  taste,  she  observed  the  lines  were  not  so 
smooth  as  Prior's  or  Pope's,  but  had  more  thought  and  spirit 
than  any  of  theirs.  She  was  wonderfully  delighted  with  such 
a  demonstration  of  her  lover's  sense  and  passion,  and  not  a 
little  pleased  with  her  own  charms,  that  had  force  enough  to 
inspire  such  elegancies.     In   the   midst   of  this   triumph   I 


THE     COUNTESS     OE     BUTE.  275 

showed  her  that  they  were  taken  from  Randolph's  poems,  and 
the  unfortunate  transcriber  was  dismissed  with  the  scorn  he 
deserved.  To  say  truth,  the  poor  plagiary  was  very  unlucky 
to  fall  into  my  hands  ;  that  author  being*  no  longer  in  fash- 
ion, would  have  escaped  any  one  of  less  universal  reading 
than  myself.  You  should  encourage  your  daughter  to  talk 
over  with  you  what  she  reads ;  and  as  you  are  very  capable 
of  distinguishing,  take  care  she  does  not  mistake  pert  folly 
for  wit  and  humor,  or  rhyme  for  poetry,  which  are  the  com- 
mon errors  of  young  people,  and  have  a  train  of  ill  conse- 
quences. The  second  caution  to  be  given  her  (and  which  is 
most  absolutely  necessary)  is  to  conceal  whatever  learning 
she  attains  with  as  much  solicitude  as  she  would  hide  crook- 
edness or  lameness.  The  parade  of  it  can  only  serve  to  draw 
on  her  the  envy,  and  consequently  the  most  inveterate  hatred, 
of  all  he  and  she  fools,  which  will  certainly  be  at  least  three 
parts  in  four  of  her  acquaintance.  The  use  of  knowledge  in 
our  sex,  beside  the  amusement  of  solitude,  is  to  moderate  the 
passions,  and  learn  to  be  contented  with  a  small  expense 
which  are  the  certain  effects  of  a  studious  life  ;  and  it  may 
be  preferable  even  to  that  fame  which  men  have  engrossed  to 
themselves,  and  will  not  suffer  us  to  share.  You  will  tell  me 
I  have  not  observed  this  rule  myself;  but  you  are  mistaken  : 
it  is  only  inevitable  accident  that  has  given  me  any  reputation 
that  way.  I  have  always  carefully  avoided  it,  and  ever  thought 
it  a  misfortune.  The  explanation  of  this  paragraph  would 
occasion  a  long  digression,  which  I  will  not  trouble  you  with, 
it  being  my  present  design  only  to  say  what  I  think  useful  for 
the  instruction  of  my  granddaughter,  which  I  have  much  at 
heart.  If  she  has  the  same  inclination  (I  should  say  passion) 
for  learning  that  I  was  born  with,  history,  geography,  and  phi- 
losophy, will  furnish  her  with  materials  to  pass  away  cheer- 
fully a  longer  life  than  is  allotted  to  mortals.  I  believe  there 
are  few  heads  capable  of  making  Sir  Isaac  Newton's  calcula- 
tions, but  the  result  of  them  is  not  difficult  to  be  understood 
by  a  moderate  capacity.     Do  not  fear  this  should  make  her 


276  LETTERS      TO 

affect  the  character  of  Lady ,  or  Lady ,  or  Mrs. ; 

those  women  are  ridiculous,  not  because  they  have  learning, 
but  because  they  have  it  not.  One  thinks  herself  a  complete 
historian,  after  reading  Echard's  Roman  History  ;  another  a 
profound  philosopher,  having  got  by  heart  some  of  Pope's  un- 
intelligible essays ;  and  a  third  an  able  divine  on  the  strength 
of  Whitfield's  sermons.  Thus  you  hear  them  screaming  poli- 
tics and  controversy. 

It  is  a  saying  of  Thucydides,  that  ignorance  is  bold,  and 
knowledge  reserved.  Indeed  it  is  impossible  to  be  far  advanced 
in  it,  without  being  more  humbled  by  a  conviction  of  human 
ignorance  than  elated  by  learning.  At  the  same  time  I  rec- 
ommend books,  I  neither  exclude  work  nor  drawing.  I 
think  it  as  scandalous  for  a  woman  not  to  know  how  to  use  a 
needle,  as  for  a  man  not  to  know  how  to  use  a  sword.  I  was 
once  extremely  fond  of  my  pencil,  and  it  was  a  great  mortifi- 
cation to  me  when  my  father  turned  off  my  master,  having 
made  a  considerable  progress  for  the  short  time  I  learned.  My 
over-eagerness  in  the  pursuit  of  it  had  brought  a  weakness  in 
my  eyes,  that  made  it  necessary  to  leave  off;  and  all  the  ad- 
vantage I  got  was  the  improvement  of  my  hand.  I  see,  by 
hers,  that  practice  will  make  her  a  ready  writer ;  she  may  at- 
tain it  by  serving  you  for  a  secretary,  when  your  health  or 
affairs  make  it  troublesome  to  you  to  write  yourself;  and 
custom  will  make  it  an  agreeable  amusement  to  her.  She 
can  not  have  too  many  for  that  station  of  life  which  will  prob- 
ably be  her  fate.  The  ultimate  end  of  your  education  was  to 
make  you  a  good  wife  (and  I  have  the  comfort  to  hear  that 
you  are  one) ;  hers  ought  to  be,  to  make  her  happy  in  a  virgin 
state.  I  will  not  say  it  is  happier ;  but  it  is  undoubtedly  safer 
than  any  marriage.  In  a  lottery,  where  there  is  (at  the  lowest 
computation)  ten  thousand  blanks  to  a  prize,  it  is  the  most 
prudent  choice  not  to  venture.  I  have  always  been  so  thor- 
oughly persuaded  of  this  truth,  that,  notwithstanding  the  flat- 
tering views  I  had  for  you  (as  I  never  intended  you  a  sacrifice 
to  my  vanity),  I  thought  I  owed  you  the  justice  to  lay  before 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  277 

you  all  the  hazards  attending  matrimony  :  you  may  recollect 
I  did  so  in  the  strongest  manner.  Perhaps  you  may  have  more 
success  in  the  instructing  your  daughter:  she  has  so  much 
company  at  home,  she  will  not  need  seeking  it  abroad,  and 
will  more  readily  take  the  notions  you  think  fit  to  give  her. 
As  you  were  alone  in  my  family,  it  would  have  been  thought 
a  great  cruelty  to  suffer  you  no  companions  of  your  own  age, 
especially  having  so  many  near  relations,  and  I  do  not  wonder 
their  opinions  influenced  yours.  I  was  not  sorry  to  see  you 
not  determined  on  a  single  life,  knowing  it  was  not  your 
father's  intention,  and  contented  myself  with  endeavoring  to 
make  your  home  so  easy  that  you  might  not  be  in  haste  to 
leave  it. 

I  am  afraid  you  will  think  this  a  very  long  insignificant 
letter,  I  hope  the  kindness  of  the  design  will  excuse  it,  being 
willing  to  give  you  every  proof  in  my  power  that  I  am  your 
most  affectionate  mother. 


LETTER  XV. 

Louvere,  Feb.  19,  N.  S.,  1753. 

My  Dear  Child — I  gave  you  some  general  thoughts  on 
the  education  of  your  children  in  my  last  letter ;  but  fearing 
you  should  think  I  neglected  your  request,  by  answering  it 
with  too  much  conciseness,  I  am  resolved  to  add  to  it  what 
little  I  know  on  that  subject,  and  which  may  perhaps  be 
useful  to  you  in  a  concern  with  which  you  seem  so  nearly  af- 
fected. 

People  commonly  educate  their  children  as  they  build  their 
houses,  according  to  some  plan  they  think  beautiful,  without 
considering  whether  it  is  suited  to  the  purposes  for  which 
they  are  designed.  Almost  all  girls  of  quality  are  educated  as 
if  they  were  to  be  great  ladies,  which  is  often  as  little  to  be 
expected  as  an  immoderate  heat  of  the  sun  in  the  north  of 
Scotland.     You  should  teach  yours  to  confine  their  desires  to 


278  LETTERS    TO 

probabilities,  to  be  as  useful  as  is  possible  to  themselves,  and  to 
think  privacy  (as  it  is)  the  happiest  state  of  life.  I  do  not  doubt 
your  giving  them  all  the  instructions  necessary  to  form  them 
to  a  virtuous  life ;  but  'tis  a  fatal  mistake  to  do  this  without 
"  proper  restrictions.  Vices  are  often  hid  under  the  name  of 
virtues,  and  the  practice  of  them  followed  by  the  worst  of  con- 
sequences. Sincerity,  friendship,  piety,  disinterestedness,  and 
generosity,  are  all  great  virtues ;  but  pursued  without  discre- 
tion become  criminal.  I  have  seen  ladies  indulge  their  own 
ill-humor  by  being  very  rude  and  impertinent,  and  think  they 
deserved  approbation,  by  saying  I  love  to  speak  truth.  One 
of  your  acquaintances  made  a  ball  the  next  day  after  her 
mother  died,  to  show  she  was  sincere.  I  believe  your  own  re- 
flections will  furnish  you  with  but  too  many  examples  of  the 
ill  effects  of  the  rest  of  the  sentiments  I  have  mentioned, 
when  too  warmly  embraced.  They  are  generally  recommended 
to  young  people  without  limits  or  distinction,  and  this  preju- 
dice hurries  them  into  great  misfortunes,  while  they  are  ap- 
plauding themselves  in  the  noble  practice  (as  they  fancy)  of 
very  eminent  virtues. 

I  can  not  help  adding  (out  of  my  real  affection  for  you)  that 
I  wish  you  would  moderate  that  fondness  you  have  for  your 
children.  I  do  not  mean  you  should  abate  any  part  of  your 
care,  or  not  do  your  duty  to  them  in  its  utmost  extent ;  but  I 
would  have  you  early  prepare  yourself  for  disappointments, 
which  are  heavy  in  proportion  to  their  being  surprising.  It 
is  hardly  possible  in  such  a  number  that  none  should  be  un- 
happy ;  prepare  yourself  against  a  misfortune  of  that  kind. 
I  confess  there  is  hardly  any  more  difficult  to  support ;  yet,  it 
is  certain  imagination  has  a  great  share  in  the  pain  of  it,  and  it 
is  more  in  our  power — than  it  is  commonly  believed — to  soften 
whatever  ills  are  founded  or  augmented  by  fancy.  Strictly 
speaking,  there  is  but  one  real  evil,  I  mean,  acute  pain ;  all 
other  complaints  are  so  considerably  diminished  by  time  that 
it  is  plain  the  grief  is  owing  to  our  passion,  since  the  sensation 
of  it  vanishes  when  that  is  over. 


THE     COUNTESS     OF    BUTE.  2*79 

There  is  another  mistake,  I  forgot  to  mention,  usual  in 
mothers;  if  any  of  their  daughters  are  beauties,  they  take 
great  pains  to  persuade  them  that  they  are  ugly,  or  at  least, 
that  they  think  so,  which  the  young  woman  never  fails  to  be- 
lieve springs  from  envy,  and  is  perhaps  not  so  much  in  the 
wrong.  I  would,  if  possible,  give  them  a  just  notion  of  their 
figure^  and  show  them  how  far  it  is  valuable.  Every  ad  van-  ^ 
tage  has  its  price,  and  may  be  over  or  undervalued.  It  is  the 
common  doctrine  of  (what  are  called)  good  books,  to  inspire 
a  contempt  for  beauty,  riches,  greatness,  etc.,  which  has  done 
as  much  mischief  among  the  young  of  our  sex  as  an  over  / 
eager  desire  of  them.  Why  they  should  not  look  on  those 
things  as  blessings  where  they  are  bestowed,  though  not  ne- 
cessaries that  it  is  impossible  to  be  happy  without,  I  can  not 

conceive.     I  am  persuaded  the  ruin  of  Lady  F M 

was  in  a  great  measure  owing  to  the  notions  given  her  by  the 
good  people  that  had  the  care  of  her.     'Tis  true,  her  circum- 
stances and  your  daughters'  are  very  different :  they  should  be 
taught  to  be  content  with  privacy,  and  yet  not  neglect  good  _ 
fortune,  if  it  should  be  offered  them. 

I  am  afraid  I  have  tired  you  with  my  instructions.  I  do 
not  give  them  as  believing  my  age  has  furnished  me  with  su- 
perior wisdom,  but  in  compliance  with  your  desire,  and  being 
fond  of  every  opportunity  that  gives  a  proof  of  the  tenderness 
with  which  I  am  ever  your  affectionate  mother. 

I  should  be  glad  if  you  sent  me  the  third  volume  of  Camp- 
bell's Architecture,  and  with  it  any  other  entertaining  books. 
I  have  seen  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough's '  Memoirs,  but 
should  be  glad  of  the  Apology  for  a  late  resignation.  As 
to  the  ale,  'tis  now  so  late  in  the  year,  it  is  impossible  it  should 
come  good.  You  do  not  mention  your  father ;  my  last  lettei 
from  him  told  he  intended  soon  for  England. 


280  LETTERS     TO 

LETTER  XVI. 

Louvere,  March  6,  IT 53. 
I  can  not  help  writing  a  sort  of  apology  for  my  last  letter 
foreseeing  that  you  will  think  it  wrong,  or  at  least  Lord  Bute 
will  be  extremely  shocked,  at  the  proposal  of  a  learned  educa- 
tion for  daughters,  which  the  generality  of  men  believe  to  be 

'  as  great  a  profanation  as  the  clergy  would  do  if  the  laity 
should  presume  to  exercise  the  functions  of  the  priesthood.  I 
desire  you  would  take  notice,  I  would  not  have  learning  en- 
joined them  as  a  task,  but  permitted  as  a  pleasure,  if  their 
genius  leads  them  naturally  to  it.  I  look  upon  my  grand- 
daughters as  a  sort  of  lay  nuns :  destiny  may  have  laid  up 
other  things  for  them,  but  they  have  no  reason  to  expect  to 
pass  their  time  otherwise  than  their  aunts  do  at  present ;  and 
I  know,  by  experience,  it  is  in  the  power  of  study  not  only 
to  make  solitude  tolerable,  but  agreeable.  I  have  now  lived 
almost  seven  years  in  a  stricter  retirement  than  yours  in  the 
Isle  of  Bute,  and  can  assure  you  I  have  never  had  half  an  hour 
heavy  on  my  hands  for  want  of  something  to  do.     Whoever 

/  will   cultivate   their  own    mind  will    find  full    employment. 

\  Every  virtue  does  not  only  require  great  care  in  the  planting, 
but  as  much  daily  solicitude  in  cherishing,  as  exotic  fruits  and 
flowers.  The  vices  and  passions  (which  I  am  afraid  are  the 
natural  product  of  the  soil)  demand  perpetual  weeding.  Add 
to  this  the  search  after  knowledge  (every  branch  of  which  is 
entertaining,)  and  the  longest  life  is  too  short  for  the  pursuit  of 
it ;  which,  though  in  some  regard  confined  to  very  strait  limits, 
leaves  still  a  vast  variety  of  amusements  to  those  capable  of 
tasting  them,  which  is  utterly  impossible  to  be  attained  by  those 
that  are  blinded  by  prejudice,  the  certain  effect  of  an  ignorant 
education.  My  own  was  one  of  the  worst  in  the  world,  being 
exactly  the  same  as  Clarissa  Harlowe's ;  her  pious  Mrs.  Norton 
so  perfectly  resembling  my  governess,  who  had  been  nurse  to 
my  mother  I  could  almost  fancy  the  author  was  acquainted 
with  her,  she  took  so  much  pains,  from  my  infancv,  to  fill  my 


THE     COUNTESS     OF    BUTE.  281 

head  with  superstitious  tales  and  false  notions.  It  was  none  of 
her  fault  that  I  am  not  at  this  day  afraid  of  witches  and  hob- 
goblins, or  turned  Methodist.  Almost  all  girls  are  bred  after 
this  manner.  I  believe  you  are  the  only  woman  (perhaps  I 
might  say,  person)  that  never  was  either  frighted  or  cheated 
into  any  thing  by  your  parents.  I  can  truly  affirm  I  never 
deceived  any  body  in  my  life,  excepting  (which  I  confess  has 
often  happened  undesigned)  by  speaking  plainly  ;  as  Earl 
Stanhope  used  to  say  (during  his  ministry)  he  always  imposed 
on  the  foreign  ministers  by  telling  them  the  naked  truth, 
which,  as  they  thought  impossible  to  come  from  the  mouth  of  ] 
a  statesman,  they  never  failed  to  write  information  to  their  re- 
spective courts  directly  contrary  to  the  assurances  he  gave 
them.  Most  people  confound  the  ideas  of  sense  and  cunning, 
though  there  are  really  no  two  things  in  nature  more  opposite : 
it  is,  in  part,  from  this  false  reasoning,  the  unjust  custom  pre- 
vails of  debarring  our  sex  from  the  advantages  of  learning,  the 
men  fancying  the  improvement  of  our  understandings  would 
only  furnish  us  with  more  art  to  deceive  them,  which  is  di- 
rectly contrary  to  the  truth.  Fools  are  always  enterprising,  t 
not  seeing  the  difficulties  of  deceit,  or  the  ill  consequences  of 
detection.  I  could  give  many  examples  of  ladies  whose  ill 
conduct  has.been  very  notorious,  which  has  been  owing  to  that 
ignorance  which  has  exposed  them  to  idleness,  which  is  justly 
called  the  mother  of  mishief.  There  is  nothing  so  like  the  v 
education  of  a  woman  of  quality  as  that  of  a  prince  :  they  are  * 
taught  to  dance,  and  the  exterior  part  of  what  is  called  good 
breeding,  which,  if  they  attain,  they  are  extraordinary  crea- 
tures in  their  kind,  and  have  all  the  accomplishments  required 
by  their  directors.  The  same  characters  are  formed  by  the 
same  lessons,  which  inclines  me  to  think  (if  I  dare  say  it)  that 
nature  has  not  placed  us  in  an  inferior  rank  to  men,  no  more 
than  the  females  of  other  animals,  where  we  see  no  distinction 
of  capacity ;  though,  I  am  persuaded,  if  there  was  a  common- 
wealth of  rational  horses  (as  Doctor  Swift  has  supposed),  it 
would  be  an  established  maxim  among  them  that  a  mare  could 


282  LETTERS     TO 

not  be  taught  to  pace.  I  could  add  a  great  deal  on  this  sub- 
ject, but  I  am  not  now  endeavoring  to  remove  the  prejudices 
of  mankind :  my  only  design  is  to  point  out  to  my  grand, 
daughters  the  method  of  being  contented  with  that  retreat  to 
which  unforseen  circumstances  may  oblige  them,  and  which  is 
perhaps  preferable  to  all  the  show  of  public  life.  It  has  always 
been  my  inclination.  Lady  Stafford  (who  knew  me  better  than 
any  body  else  in  the  world,  both  from  her  own  just  discern- 
ment, and  my  heart  being  ever  as  open  to  her  as  myself)  used 
to  tell  me,  my  true  vocation  was  a  monastery ;  and  I  now  find, 
by  experience,  more  sincere  pleasures  with  my  books  and  gar- 
den than  all  the  flutter  of  a  court  could  give  me. 

If  you  follow  my  advice  in  relation  to  Lady  Mary,  my  cor- 
respondence may  be  of  use  to  her ;  and  I  shall  very  willingly 
give  her  those  instructions  that  may  be  necessary  in  the  pursuit 
of  her  studies.  Before  her  age,  I  was  in  the  most  regular  com- 
merce with  my  grandmother,  though  the  difference  of  our  time 
of  life  was  much  greater,  she  being  past  forty-five  when  she 
married  my  grandfather.  She  died  at  ninety-six,  retaining,  to 
the  last,  the  vivacity  and  clearness  of  her  understanding,  which 
was  very  uncommon. 


LETTER  XVII. 

Louvere,  June  3,  N.  S.,  1753. 
My  Dear  Child — You  see  I  was  not  mistaken  in  supposing 
we  should  have  disputes  concerning  your  daughters,  if  we 
were  together,  since  we  can  differ  even  at  this  distance.  The 
sort  of  learning  that  I  recommended  is  not  so  expensive,  either 
of  time  or  money,  as  dancing,  and  in  my  opinion  likely  to  be 
of  much  more  use  to  Lady ,  if  her  memory  and  apprehen- 
sion are  what  you  represented  them  to  me.  However,  every 
one  has  a  right  to  educate  their  children  after  their  own  way, 
and  I  shall  speak  no  more  on  that  subject.  I  was  so  much 
pleased  with  the  character  you  gave  her,  that  had  there  been 


THE     COUNTESS    OF    BUTE.  283 

any  possibility  of  her  undertaking  so  long  a  journey,  I  should 
certainly  have  asked  for  her  ;  and  I  think  out  of  such  a  number 
you  might  have  spared  her.  I  own  my  affection  prevailed  over 
my  judgment  in  this  thought,  since  nothing  can  be  more  im- 
prudent than  undertaking  the  management  of  another's  child. 
I  verily  believe  that  had  I  carried  six  daughters  out  of  England 
with  me,  I  could  have  disposed  of  them  all  advantageously. 
The  winter  I  passed  at  Rome  there  was  an  unusual  concourse 
of  English,  many  of  them  with  great  estates,  and  their  own 
masters :  as  they  had  no  admittance  to  the  Roman  ladies,  nor 
understood  the  language,  they  had  no  way  of  passing  their 
evenings  but  in  my  apartment,  where  I  had  always  a  full  draw- 
ing-room. Their  governors  encouraged  their  assiduities  as 
much  as  they  could,  finding  I  gave  them  lessons  of  economy 
and  good  conduct ;  and  my  authority  was  so  great,  it  was  a 
common  threat  among  them,  I  '11  tell  Lady  Mary  what  you  say. 
I  was  judge  of  all  their  disputes,  and  my  decisions  always 
submitted  to.  While  I  staid,  there  was  neither  gaming,  drink- 
ing, quarreling,  or  keeping.  The  Abbe  Grant  (a  very  honest 
good-natured  North  Briton,  who  has  resided  several  years  at 
Rome)  was  so  much  amazed  at  this  uncommon  regularity,  he 
would  have  made  me  believe  I  was  bound  in  conscience  to  pass 
my  life  there,  for  the  good  of  my  countrymen.  I  can  assure 
you  my  vanity  was  not  at  all  raised  by  this  influence  over  them, 
knowing  very  well  that  had  Lady  Charlotte  de  Roussi  been  in 
my  place,  it  would  have  been  the  same  thing.  There  is  that 
general  emulation  in  mankind,  I  am  fully  persuaded  if  a  dozen 
young  fellows  bred  a  bear  among  them,  and  saw  no  other 
creature,  they  would  every  day  fall  out  for  the  bear's  favors, 
and  be  extremely  flattered  by  any  mark  of  distinction  shown 
by  that  ugly  animal.  Since  my  last  return  to  Italy,  which  is 
now  near  seven  yeacs,  I  have  lived  in  a  solitude  not  unlike  that 
of  Robinson  Crusoe,  excepting  my  short  trips  to  Louvere :  my 
whole  time  is  spent  in  my  closet  and  garden,  without  regret- 
ting any  conversation  but  that  of  my  own  family.  The  study 
of  simples  is  a  new  amusement  to  me.     I  have  no  correspond- 


284  LETTERS     TO 

ence  with  any  body  at  London  but  yourself  and  your  father, 
whom  I  have  not  heard  from  a  long  time.  My  best  wishes 
attend  you  and  yours. 


LETTER  XVIII. 

Louvere,  July  10,  l^. 
I  have  been  these  six  weeks,  and  still  am,  at  my  dairy-house, 
which  joins  to  my  garden.  I  believe  I  have  already  told  you 
it  is  a  long  mile  from  the  castle,  which  is  situate  in  the  midst 
of  a  very  large  village,  once  a  considerable  town,  part  of  the 
walls  still  remaining,  and  has  not  vacant  ground  enough  about 
it  to  make  a  garden,  which  is  my  greatest  amusement,  it  being 
now  troublesome  to  walk,  or  even  go  in  the  chaise  till  the  even- 
ing. I  have  fitted  up  in  this  farm-house  a  room  for  myself, 
that  is  to  say,  strewed  the  floor  with  rushes,  covered  the 
chimney  with  moss  and  branches,  and  adorned  the  room  with 
basons  of  earthen-ware  (which  is  made  here  to  great  perfec- 
tion) filled  with  flowers,  and  put  in  some  straw  chairs,  and  a 
couch  bed,  which  is  my  whole  furniture.  This  spot  of  ground 
is  so  beautiful,  I  am  afraid  you  will  scarce  credit  the  descrip- 
tion, which,  however,  I  can  assure  you  shall  be  very  literal, 
without  any  embellishment  from  imagination.  It  is  on  a  bank, 
forming  a  kind  of  peninsula,  raised  from  the  river  Oglio  fifty 
feet,  to  which  you  may  descend  by  easy  stairs  cut  in  the  turf, 
and  either  take  the  air  on  the  river,  which  is  as  large  as  the 
Thames  at  Richmond,  or  by  walking  an  avenue  two  hundred 
yards,;  on  the  side  of  it,  you  find  a  wood  of  a  hundred  acres, 
which  was  all  ready  cut  into  walks  and  ridings  when  I  took  it. 
I  have  only  added  fifteen  bowers  in  different  views,  with  seats 
of  turf.  They  were  easily  made,  here  being  a  large  quantity 
of  underwood,  and  a  great  number  of  wild  vines,  which  twist 
to  the  top  of  the  highest  trees,  and  from  which  they  make  a 
very  good  sort  of  wine  they  call  brusco.  I  am  now  writing  to 
you  in  one  of  these  arbors,  which  is  so  thick  shaded  the  sun 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  285 

is  not  troublesome,  even  at  noon.  Another  is  on  the  side  of 
the  river,  where  I  have  made  a  camp  kitchen,  that  I  may  take 
the  fish,  dress,  and  eat  it  immediately,  and  at  the  same  time  see 
the  barks,  which  ascend  or  descend  every  day  to  or  from 
Mantua,  Guastalla,  or  Pont  de  Vie,  all  considerable  towns. 
This  little  wood  is  carpeted,  in  their  succeeding  seasons,  with 
violets  and  strawberries,  inhabited  by  a  nation  of  nightingales, 
and  filled  with  game  of  all  kinds,  excepting  deer  and  wild  boar, 
the  first  being  unknown  here,  and  not  being  large  enough  for 
the  other. 

My  garden  was  a  plain  vineyard  when  it  came  into  my  hands 
not  two  years  ago,  and  it  is,  with  a  small  expense,  turned  into 
a  garden  that  (apart  from  the  advantage  of  the  climate)  I  like 
better  than  that  of  Kensington.  The  Italian  vinej^ards  are  not 
planted  like  those  in  France,  but  in  clumps,  fastened  to  trees 
planted  in  equal  ranks  (commonly  fruit  trees),  and  continued 
in  festoons  from  one  to  another,  which  I  have  turned  into  cov- 
ered galleries  of  shade,  that  I  can  walk  in  the  heat  without 
being  incommoded  by  it.  I  have  made  a  dining-room  of  ver- 
dure, capable  of  holding  a  table  of  twenty  covers ;  the  whole 
ground  is  three  hundred  and  seventeen  feet  in  length,  and  two 
hundred  in  breadth.  You  see  it  is  far  from  large  ;  but  so  pret- 
tily disposed  (though  I  say  it),  that  I  never  saw  a  more  agree- 
able rustic  garden,  abounding  with  all  sorts  of  fruit,  and  pro- 
ducing a  variety  of  wines.  I  would  send  you  a  pipe,  if  I  did 
not  fear  the  customs  would  make  you  pay  too  dear  for  it.  I 
believe  my  description  gives  you  but  an  imperfect  idea  of  my 
garden.  Perhaps  I  shall  succeed  better  in  describing  my  man- 
ner of  life,  which  is  as  regular  as  that  of  any  monastery.  I 
generally  rise  at  six,  and  as  soon  as  I  have  breakfasted,  put 
myself  at  the  head  of  my  needle- worn  en  and  work  with  them 
till  nine.  I  then  inspect  my  dairy,  and  take  a  turn  among  my 
poultry,  which  is  a  very  large  inquiry.  I  have,  at  present,  two 
hundred  chickens,  besides  turkeys,  geese,  ducks,  and  peacocks. 
All  things  have  hitherto  prospered  under  my  care ;  my  bees 
and  silk-worms  are  doubled,  and  I  am  told  that,  without  acci- 


286  LETTERS     TO 

dents,  my  capital  will  be  so  in  two  years'  time.  At  eleven 
o'clock  I  retire  to  my  books,  I  dare  not  indulge  myself  in  that 
pleasure  above  an  hour.  At  twelve  I  constantly  dine,  and 
sleep  after  dinner  till  about  three.  I  then  send  for  some  of  my 
old  priests,  and  either  play  at  piquet  or  whist,  till  'tis  cool 
enough  to  go  out.  One  evening  I  walk  in  my  wood,  where  I 
often  sup,  take  the  air  on  horseback  the  next,  and  go  on  the 
water  the  third.  The  fishery  of  this  part  of  the  river  belongs 
to  me  ;  and  my  fisherman's  little  boat  (to  which  I  have  a  green 
lutestring  awning)  serves  me  for  a  barge.  He  and  his  son  are 
my  rowers  without  any  expense,  he  being  very  well  paid  by 
the  profit  of  the  fish,  which  I  give  him  on  condition  of  having 
every  day  one  dish  for  my  table.  Here  is  plenty  of  every  sort 
of  fresh  water  fish  (excepting  salmon) ;  but  we  have  a  large 
trout  so  like  it  that  I  who  have  almost  forgot  the  taste,  do  not 
distinguish  it. 

We  are  both  placed  properly  in  regard  to  our  different  times 
of  life :  you  amid  the  fair,  the  gallant,  and  the  gay ;  I,  in  a 
retreat,  where  I  enjoy  every  amusement  that  solitude  can  afford. 
I  confess  I  sometimes  wish  for  a  little  conversation ;  but  I  re- 
flect that  the  commerce  of  the  world  gives  more  uneasiness 
than  pleasure,  and  quiet  is  all  the  hope  that  can  reasonably  be 
indulged  at  my  age. 


LETTER  XIX. 


Louvere,  Nov.  27,  N.  S.,  1753. 
Dear  Child — By  the  account  you  give  me  of  London,  I 
think  it  very  much  reformed  ;  at  least  you  have  one  sin  the 
less,  and  it  was  a  very  reigning  one  in  my  time,  I  mean  scan- 
dal :  it  must  be  literally  reduced  to  a  whisper,  since  the  cus- 
tom of  Mving  all  together.  I  hope  it  has  also  banished  the 
fashion  of  talking  all  at  once,  which  was  very  prevailing  when 
I  was  in  town,  and  may  perhaps  contribute  to  brotherly  love 
and  unity,  which  was  so  much  declined  in  my  memory  that  it 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     CUTE.  287 

was  hard  to  invite  six  people  that  would  not,  by  cold  looks,  or 
piquing  reflections,  affront  one  another.  I  suppose  parties  are 
at  an  end,  though  I  fear  it  is  the  consequence  of  the  old 
almanac  prophecy,  "  Poverty  brings  peace  ;"  and  I  fancy  you 
really  follow  the  French  mode,  and  the  lady  keeps  an  assem- 
bly, that  the  assembly  may  keep  the  lady,  and  card  money 
pay  for  clothes  and  equipage,  as  well  as  cards  and  candles.  I 
find  I  should  be  as  solitary  in  London  as  I  am  here  in  the 
country,  it  being  impossible  forme  to  submit  to  live  in  a  drum, 
which  I  think  so  far  from  a  cure  of  uneasiness,  that  it  is,  in 
my  opinion,  adding  one  more  to  the  heap.  There  are  so 
many  attached  to  humanity,  'tis  impossible  to  fly  from  them 
all ;  but  experience  has  confirmed  to  me  (what  I  always 
thought)  that  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  will  be  ever  attended 
with  pain,  and  the  study  of  ease  be  most  certainly  accom- 
panied with  pleasures.  I  have  had  this  morning  as  much  de- 
light in  a  walk  in  the  sun  as  ever  I  felt  formerly  in  the 
crowded  mall,  even  when  I  imagined  I  had  my  share  of  the 
admiration  of  the  place,  which  was  generally  soured,  before  I 
slept,  by  the  informations  of  my  female  friends,  who  seldom 
failed  to  tell  me  it  was  observed  that  I  showed  an  inch 
above  my  shoe-heels,  or  some  other  criticism  of  equal  weight, 
which  was  construed  affectation,  and  utterly  destroyed  all  the 
satisfaction  my  vanity  had  given  me.  I  have  now  no  other 
but  in  my  little  housewifery,  which  is  easily  gratified  in  this 
country,  where,  by  the  help  of  my  recipe-book,  I  make  a  very 
shining  figure  among  my  neighbors,  by  the  introduction  of 
custards,  cheesecakes,  and  mince-pies,  which  were  entirely  un- 
known to  these  parts,  and  are  received  with  universal  ap- 
plause, and  have  reason  to  believe  will  preserve  my  memory 
even  to  future  ages,  particularly  by  the  art  of  butter-making, 
in  which  I  have  so  improved  them  that  they  now  make  as 
good  as  in  any  part  of  England. 


288 


LETTERS      TO 


LETTER   XX. 

Louvere,  Dec.  13,  1753. 

Dear  Child — I  have  wrote  you  so  many  letters  without 
any  return,  that  if  I  loved  you  at  all  less  than  I  do,  I  should 
certainly  give  over  writing.  I  received  a  kind  letter  last  post 
from  Lady  Oxford,  which  gives  me  hopes  I  shall  at  length  re- 
ceive yours,  being  persuaded  you  have  not  neglected  our  cor- 
respondence, though  I  am  not  so  happy  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  it. 

I  have  little  to  say  from  this  solitude,  having  already  sent 
you  a  description  of  my  garden,  which,  with  my  books,  takes 
up  all  my  time.  I  made  a  small  excursion  last  week  to  visit  a 
nunnery,  twelve  miles  from  hence,  which  is  the  only  institu- 
tion of  the  kind  in  all  Italy.  It  is  in  a  town  in  the  state  of 
Mantua,  founded  by  a  princess  of  the  house  of  Gonzaga,  one 
of  whom  (now  very  old)  is  the  present  abbess :  they  are 
dressed  in  black,  and  wear  a  thin  cypress  vail  at  the  back  of 
their  heads,  excepting  which,  they  have  no  mark  of  a  religious 
habit,  being  set  out  in  their  hair,  and  having  no  guimpe,  but 
wearing  des  collets  montes,  for  which  I  have  no  name  in  En- 
glish, but  you  may  have  seen  them  in  very  old  pictures,  being 
in  fashion  before  and  after  ruffs.  Their  house  is  a  very  large 
handsome  building,  though  not  regular,  every  sister  having 
liberty  to  build  her  own  apartment  to  her  taste,  which  con- 
sists of  as  many  rooms  as  she  pleases  :  they  have  each  a  sep- 
arate kitchen,  and  keep  cooks  and  what  other  servants  they 
think  proper,  though  there  is  a  very  fine  public  refectory : 
they  are  permitted  to  dine  in  private  whenever  they  please. 
Their  garden  is  very  large,  and  the  most  adorned  of  any  in 
these  parts.  They  have  no  grates,  and  make  what  visits  they 
will,  always  two  together,  and  receive  those  of  the  men  as 
well  as  ladies.  I  was  accompanied,  when  I  went,  with  all  the 
nobility  of  the  town,  and  they  showed  me  all  the  house,  with- 
out excluding  the  gentlemen :  but  what  I  think  the  most  re- 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  289 

markable  privilege  is  a  country-house,  which  belongs  to  them, 
three  miles  from  the  town,  where  they  pass  every  vintage,  and 
at  any  time  any  four  of  them  may  take  their  pleasure  there 
for  as  many  days  as  they  choose.  They  seem  to  differ  from 
the  chanoinesse  of  Flanders  only  in  their  vow  of  celibacy. 
They  take  pensioners,  but  only  those  of  quality.  I  saw  here  a 
niece  of  General  Brown.  Those  that  profess  are  obliged  to 
prove  a  descent  as  noble  as  the  Knights  of  Malta.  Upon  the 
whole,  I  think  it  the  most  agreeable  community  I  have  seen, 
and  their  behavior  more  decent  than  that  of  the  cloistered 
nuns,  who  I  have  heard  say  themselves,  that  the  grate  permits 
all  liberty  of  speech  since  it  leaves  them  no  other,  and  in- 
deed, they  generally  talk  as  if  they  thought  so.  I  went  to 
a  monastery,  which  gave  me  occasion  to  know  a  great  deal 
of  their  conduct,  which  (though  the  convent  of  the  best 
reputation  in  that  town  where  it  is)  was  such  as  I  would  as 
soon  put  a  girl  in  a  play-house  for  education  as  send  her 
among  them. 

My  paper  is  at  an  end,  and  hardly  leaves  room  for  my  com- 
pliments to  Lord  Bute,  blessing  to  my  grandchildren,  and 
assurance  to  yourself  of  being  your  most  affectionate  mother. 


LETTER  XXI. 

]  3th  May,  1754. 
It  was  with  great  pleasure  I  received  my  dear  child's  letter 
of  April  15,  this  day,  May  13.  Do  not  imagine  that  I  have  had 
hard  thoughts  of  you  when  I  lamented  your  silence  ;  I  think  I 
know  your  good  heart  too  well  to  suspect  you  of  any  unkindness 
to  me  ;  in  your  circumstances  many  unavoidable  accidents  may 
hinder  your  writing,  but  having  not  heard  from  you  for  many 
months,  my  fears  for  your  health  made  me  very  uneasy.  I  am 
surprised  I  am  not  oftener  low-spirited,  considering  the  vexa- 
tions I  am  exposed  to  by  the  folly  of  Murray ;  I  suppose  he 
attributes  to  me  some  of  the  marks  of  contempt  he  is  treated 

13 


290  LETTERS     TO 

with ;  without  remembering  that  he  was  in  no  higher  esteem 
before  I  came.  I  confess  I  have  received  great  civilities  from 
some  friends  that  I  made  here  so  long  ago  as  the  year  '40,  but 
upon  my  honor  have  never  named  his  name,  or  heard  him 
mentioned  by  any  noble  Venetian  whatever  ;  nor  have  in  any 
shape  given  him  the  least  provocation  to  all  the  low  malice  he 
has  shown  me,  which  I  have  overlooked  as  below  my  notice, 
and  would  not  trouble  you  with  any  part  of  it  at  present  if  he 
had  not  invented  a  new  persecution  which  may  be  productive 
of  ill  consequences.  Here  arrived,  a  few  days  ago,  Sir  James 
Stuart  with  his  lady ;  that  name  was  sufficient  to  make  me  fly 
to  wait  on  her.  I  was  charmed  to  find  a  man  of  uncommon 
sense  and  learning,  and  a  lady  that  without  beauty  is  more 
amiable  than  the  fairest  of  her  sex.  I  offered  them  all  the  little 
good  offices  in  my  power,  and  invited  them  to  supper  ;  upon 
which  our  wise  minister  has  discovered  that  I  am  in  the  interest 
of  popery  and  slavery.  As  he  has  often  said  the  same  thing  of 
Mr.  Pitt,  it  would  give  me  no  mortification,  if  I  did  not  appre- 
hend that  his  fertile  imagination  may  support  this  wise  idea  by 
such  circumstances  as  may  influence  those  that  do  not  know 
me.  It  is  very  remarkable  that,  after  having  suffered  all  the 
rage  of  that  party  at  Avignon,  for  my  attachment  to  the  pres- 
ent reigning  family,  I  should  be  accused  here  of  favoring  re- 
bellion, when  I  hoped  all  our  odious  divisions  were  forgotten. 
I  return  you  many  thanks,  my  dear  child,  for  your  kind  in- 
tention of  sending  me  another  set  of  books.  I  am  still  in  your 
debt  nine  shillings,  and  send  you  inclosed  a  note  on  Child  to  pay 
for  whatever  you  buy ;  but  no  more  duplicates ;  as  well  as  I 
love  nonsense,  I  do  not  desire  to  have  it  twice  over  in  the  same 
words  ;  no  translations  ;  no  periodical  papers,  though,  I  confess, 
some  of  the  World  entertained  me  very  much,  particularly 
Lord  Chesterfield  and  Harry  Walpole,  whom  I  knew  at  Flor- 
ence ;  but  whenever  I  met  Dodsley  I  wished  him  out  of  the 
World  with  all  my  heart.  The  title  was  a  very  lucky  one, 
being  as  you  see  productive  of  puns  world  without  end  ;  which 
is  all  the  species  of  wit  some  people  can  either  practice  or 


THE     COUNTESS     OF    BUTE.  291 

understand.  I  beg  you  would  direct  the  next  box  to  me,  with- 
out passing  through  the  hands  of  Smith  ;*  he  makes  so  much 
merit  of  giving  himself  the  trouble  of  asking  for  it  that  I  am 
quite  weary  of  him ;  beside  that  he  imposes  upon  me  in  every 
thing.  He  has  lately  married  Murray'sf  sister,  a  beauteous 
virgin  of  forty,  who  after  having  refused  all  the  peers  in  En- 
gland, because  the  nicety  of  her  conscience  would  not  permit 
her  to  give  her  hand  when  her  heart  was  untouched,  she  re- 
mained without  a  husband  till  the  charms  of  that  fine  gentleman 
Mr.  Smith,  who  is  only  eighty-two,  determined  her  to  change 
her  condition.  In  short,  they  are  (as  Lord  Orrery  says  of 
Swift  and  company)  an  illustrious  group,  but  with  that  I  have 
nothing  to  do.  I  should  be  sorry  to  ruin  any  body,  or  offend 
a  man  of  such  strict  honor  as  Lord  Holderness,  who,  like  a 
great  politician,  has  provided  for  a  worthless  relation  without 
any  expense.  It  has  long  been  a  maxim  not  to  consider  if  a 
man  is  fit  for  a  place,  but  if  the  place  is  fit  for  him,  and  we  see 
the  fruit  of  these  Machiavellian  proceedings.  All  I  desire  is, 
that  Mr.  Pitt  would  require  of  this  noble  minister  to  behave 
civilly  to  me,  the  contrary  conduct  being  very  disagreeable.  I 
will  talk  further  on  this  subject  in  another  letter,  if  this  arrives 
safely.  Let  me  have  an  answer  as  soon  as  possible,  and  think 
of  me  as  your  most  affectionate  mother. 

My  compliments  to  Lord  Bute,  and  blessing  to  all  yours,  who 
are  very  near  my  heart. 


LETTER  XXII. 

Louvere,  June  23,  1754. 
My  Dear  Child — I  have  promised  you  some  remarks  on  all 
the  books  I  have  received.     I  believe  you  would  easily  forgive 

*  Joseph  Smith,  Esq.,  Consul  at  Venice.  He  made  a  large  collection 
of  paintings  and  gems,  which  were  purchased  by  King  George  the 
Third  for  £20.000.  The  Dactyliotheca  Smithiana,  in  two  vols,  quarto 
was  published  in  1765. 

•f-  Mr.  Murray  was  afterward  embassador  at  the  Porte,  and  died  in 
thft  Lazaretto  at  Venice  in  1777,  upon  his  return  to  England. 


292  LETTERS      TO 

me  not  keeping  my  word ;  however,  I  shall  go  on.  The  Ram- 
bler is  certainly  a  strong  misnomer ;  he  always  plods  in  the 
beaten  road  of  his  predecessors,  following  the  Spectator  (with 
the  same  pace  a  pack-horse  would  do  a  hunter)  in  the  style  that 
is  proper  to  lengthen  a  paper.  These  writers,  may,  perhaps, 
be  of  service  to  the  public,  which  is  saying  a  great  deal  in  their 
favor.  There  are  numbers  of  both  sexes  who  never  read  any- 
thing but  such  productions,  and  can  not  spare  time,  from  doing 
nothing,  to  go  through  a  sixpenny  pamphlet.  Such  gentle 
readers  may  be  improved  by  a  moral  hint,  which,  though  re- 
peated over  and  over,  from  generation  to  generation,  they  never 
heard  in  their  lives.  I  should  be  glad  to  know  the  name  of  this 
laborious  author.  H.  Fielding  has  given  a  true  picture  of  him- 
self and  his  first  wife,  in  the  characters  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Booth, 
some  compliments  to  his  own  figure  excepted ;  and,  I  am  per- 
suaded, several  of  the  incidents  he  mentions  are  real  matters 
of  fact.  I  wonder  he  does  not  perceive  Tom  Jones  and  Mr. 
Booth  are  sorry  scoundrels.  AIL  this  sort  of  books  have  the 
same  fault,  which  I  can  not  easily  pardon,  being  very  mischiev- 
ous. They  place  a  merit  in  extravagant  passions,  and  encour- 
age young  people  to  hope  for  impossible  events,  to  draw  them 
out  of  the  misery  they  choose  to  plunge  themselves  into,  ex- 
pecting legacies  from  unknown  relations,  and  generous  ben- 
efactors to  distressed  virtue,  as  much  out  of  nature  as  fairy 
treasures.  Fielding  has  really  a  fund  of  true  humor,  and 
was  to  be  pitied  at  his  first  entrance  into  the  world,  having 
no  choice,  as  he  said  himself,  but  to  be  a  hackney  writer,  or 
a  hackney  coachman.  His  genius  deserved  a  better  fate  ; 
but  I  can  not  help  blaming  that  continued  indiscretion,  to 
give  it  the  softest  name,  that  has  run  through  his  life,  and  I 
am  afraid  still  remains.  I  guessed  R.  Random  to  be  his, 
though  without  his  name.  I  can  not  think  Ferdinand  Fathom 
wrote  by  the  same  hand,  it  is  every  way  so  much  below  it. 
Sally  Fielding  has  mended  her  style  in  her  last  volume  of 
David  Simple,  which  conveys  a  useful  moral,  though  she  does 
not  seem  to  have  intended  it :  I  mean,  shows  the  ill  conse- 


THE     COUNTESS     OP    BUTE.  293 

quences  of  not  providing  against  casual  losses,  which  happen 
to  almost  every  body.  Mr.  Orgueil's  character  is  well  drawn, 
and  is  frequently  to  be  met  with.  The  Art  of  Tormenting, 
the  Female  Quixote,  and  Sir  C.  Goodville,  are  all  sale  work. 
I  suppose  they  proceed  from  her  pen,  and  I  heartily  pity  her, 
constrained  by  her  circumstances  to  seek  her  bread  by  a 
method,  I  do  not  doubt,  she  despises.  Tell  me  who  is  that 
accomplished  countess  she  celebrates.  I  left  no  such  person 
in  London  ;  nor  can  I  imagine  who  is  meant  by  the  English 
Sappho  mentioned  in  Betsy  Thoughtless,  whose  adventures, 
and  those  of  Jemmy  Jessamy,  gave  me  some  amusement.  I 
was  better  entertained  by  the  valet,  who  very  fairly  represents 
how  you  are  bought  and  sold  by  your  servants.  I  am  now 
so  accustomed  to  another  manner  of  treatment,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  me  to  suffer  them.  His  adventures  have  the  un- 
common merit  of  ending  in  a  surprising  manner.  The  gen- 
eral want  of  invention  which  reigns  among  our  writers,  in- 
clines me  to  think  it  is  not  the  natural  growth  of  our  island, 
which  has  not  sun  enough  to  warm  the  imagination.  The 
press  is  loaded  by  the  servile  flock  of  imitators.  Lord  Bo- 
lingbroke  would  have  quoted  Horace  in  this  place.  Since  I 
was  born,  no  original  has  appeared  excepting  Congreve  and 
Fielding,  who  would,  I  believe,  have  approached  nearer  to  his 
excellencies,  if  not  forced  by  necessity  to  publish  without  cor- 
rection, and  throw  many  productions  into  the  world  he  would 
have  thrown  into  the  fire,  if  meat  could  have  been  got  with- 
out money,  or  money  without  scribbling.  The  greatest  virtue, 
justice,  and  the  most  distinguishing  prerogative  of  mankind, 
writing,  when  duly  executed,  do  honor  to  human  nature  ;  but 
when  degenerated  into  trades,  are  the  most  contemptible  ways 
of  getting  bread.  I  am  sorry  not  to  see  any  more  of  Pere- 
grine Pickle's  performances ;  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  his 
name. 

I  can't  forbear  saying  something  in  relation  to  my  grand- 
daughters, who  are  very  near  my  heart.  If  any  of  them  are 
fond   of  reading,  I  would   not  advise   you  to   hinder  them 


294  LETTERS     TO 

(chiefly  because  it  is  impossible)  seeing  poetry,  plays,  or  ro- 
mances ;  but  accustom  them  to  talk  over  what  they  read,  and 
point  out  to  them,  as  you  are  very  capable  of  doing,  the  ab- 
surdity often  concealed  under  fine  expressions,  where  the  sound 
is  apt  to  engage  the  admiration  of  young  people.  I  was  so 
much  charmed,  at  fourteen,  with  the  dialogue  of  Henry  and 
Emma,  I  can  say  it  by  heart  to  this  day,  without  reflecting  on 
the  monstrous  folly  of  the  story  in  plain  prose,  where  a  young 
heiress  to  a  fond  father  is  represented  falling  in  love  with  a 
fellow  she  had  only  seen  as  a  huntsman,  a  falconer,  and  a  beg- 
gar, and  who  confesses,  without  any  circumstances  of  excuse, 
that  he  is  obliged  to  run  his  country,  having  newly  committed 
a  murder.  She  ought  reasonably  to  have  supposed  him,  at 
best,  a  highwayman ;  yet  the  virtuous  virgin  resolves  to  run 
away  with  him,  to  live  among  the  banditti,  and  wait  upon  his 
trollop,  if  she  had  no  other  way  of  enjoying  his  company. 
This  senseless  tale  is,  however,  so  well  varnished  with  melody 
of  words,  and  pomp  of  sentiments,  I  am  convinced  it  has  hurt 
more  girls  than  ever  were  injured  by  the  worst  poems  extant. 
I  fear  this  counsel  has  been  repeated  to  you  before  ;  but  I 
have  lost  so  many  letters  designed  for  you,  I  know  not  which 
you  have  received.  If  you  would  have  me  avoid  this  fault, 
you  must  take  notice  of  those  that  arrive,  which  you  very 
seldom  do.     My  dear  child,  God  bless  you  and  yours. 


LETTER  XXni. 

Loutere,  July  24,  1754. 
It  is  always  a  great  pleasure  to  me,  my  dear  child,  to  hear 
of  your  health,  and  that  of  your  family.  This  year  has  been 
fatal  to  the  literati  of  Italy.  The  Marquis  MafTei  soon  fol- 
lowed Cardinal  Querini.  He  was  in  England  when  you  were 
married.  Perhaps  you  may  remember  his  coming  to  see  your 
father's  Greek  inscription  :*  he  was  then  an  old  man,  and  con- 
*  Presented  by  Mr.  Wortley  to  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  295 

8equently  now  a  great  age ;  but  preserved  his  memory  and 
senses  in  their  first  vigor.  After  having  made  the  tour  of 
Europe  in  the  search  of  antiquities,  he  fixed  his  residence  in 
his  native  town  of  Verona,  where  he  erected  himself  a  little 
empire,  from  the  general  esteem,  and  a  conversation  (so  they 
call  an  assembly)  which  he  established  in  his  palace,  which  is 
one  of  the  largest  in  that  place,  and  so  luckily  situated  that 
it  is  between  the  theater  and  the  ancient  amphitheater.  He 
made  piazzas  leading  to  each  of  them,  filled  with  shops,  where 
were  sold  coffee,  tea,  chocolate,  all  sorts  of  sweetmeats,  and 
in  the  midst,  a  court  well  kept,  and  sanded,  for  the  use  of 
those  young  gentlemen  who  would  exercise  their  managed 
horses,  or  show  their  mistresses  their  skill  in  riding.  His 
gallery  was  open  every  evening  at  five  o'clock,  where  he  had  a 
fine  collection  of  antiquities,  and  two  large  cabinets  of  medals, 
intaglios,  and  cameos,  arranged  in  exact  order.  His  library 
joined  to  it ;  and  on  the  other  side  a  suit  of  five  rooms,  the 
first  of  which  was  destined  to  dancing,  the  second  to  cards 
(but  all  games  of  hazard  excluded),  and  the  others  (where  he 
himself  presided  in  an  easy  chair)  sacred  to  conversation, 
which  always  turned  upon  some  point  of  learning,  either  his- 
torical or  poetical.  Controversy  and  politics  being  utterly 
prohibited,  he  generally  proposed  the  subject,  and  took  great 
delight  in  instructing  the  young  people,  who  were  obliged  to 
seek  the  medal,  or  explain  the  inscription,  that,  illustrated  any 
fact  they  discoursed  of.  Those  who  chose  the  diversion  of  the 
public  walks,  or  theater,  went  thither,  but  never  failed  return- 
ing to  give  an  account  of  the  drama,  which  produced  a  criti- 
cal dissertation  on  that  subject,  the  marquis  having  given 
shining  proofs  of  his  skill  in  that  art.  His  tragedy  of  Merope, 
which  is  much  injured  by  Voltaire's  translation,  being  esteemed 
a  master-piece ;  and  his  comedy  of  the  Ceremonies,  being  a 
just  ridicule  of  those  formal  fopperies,  it  has  gone  a  great 
way  in  helping  to  banish  them  out  of  Italy.  The  walkers 
contributed  to  the  entertainment  by  an  account  of  some  herb, 
or  flower,  which  led  the  way  to  a  botanical  conversation  ;  or, 


296  LETTERS      TO 

if  they  were  such  inaccurate  observers  as  to  have  nothing  of 
that  kind  to  offer,  they  repeated  some  pastoral  description, 
One  day  in  the  week  was  set  apart  for  music,  vocal  and  instru- 
mental, but  no  mercenaries  were  admitted  to  the  concert. 
Thus,  at  very  little  expense  (his  fortune  not  permitting  a  large 
one),  he  had  the  happiness  of  giving  his  countrymen  a  taste 
of  polite  pleasure,  and  showing  the  youth  how  to  pass  their 
time  agreeably  without  debauchery ;  and  if  I  durst  say  it)  in 
so  doing,  has  been  a  greater  benefactor  to  his  country  than  the 
cardinal,  with  all  his  magnificent  foundations,  and  voluminous 
writings,  to  support  superstition,  and  create  disputes  on  things, 
for  the  most  part,  in  their  own  nature  indifferent.  The  Vero- 
nese nobility,  having  no  road  open  to  advancement,  are  not 
tormented  with  ambition,  or  its  child,  faction  ;  and  having 
learned  to  make  the  best  of  the  health  and  fortune  allotted 
them,  terminate  all  their  views  in  elegant  pleasure.  They  say 
God  has  reserved  glory  to  himself,  and  permitted  pleasuie  to 
the  pursuit  of  man.  In  the  autumn,  which  is  here  the  pleas- 
anest  season  of  the  year,  a  band  of  about  thirty  join  their 
hunting  equipages,  and,  carrying  with  them  a  portable  theater 
and  a  set  of  music,  make  a  progress  in  the  neighboring  prov- 
inces, where  they  hunt  every  u.orning,  perform  an  opera  every 
Sunday,  and  other  plays  the  rest  of  the  week,  to  the  entertain- 
ment of  all  the  neighborhood.  I  have  had  many  honorable 
invitations  from  my  old  friend  Maffei*  to  make  one  of  this 
society  ;  but  some  accident  or  other  has  always  prevented  me. 
You  that  are  accustomed  to  hear  of  deep  political  schemes 
and  wise  harangues,  will  despise,  perhaps,  this  trifling  life.  I 
look  upon  them  in  another  light ;  as  a  sect  of  rational  philos- 
ophers, 

Who  sing  and  dance,  and  laugh  away  their  time, 
Fresh  as  their  groves,  .and  happy  as  their  clime. 


*  The  Marquis  Scipione  Maffei,  the  author  of  the  "Verona  Illus- 
trata,"  1733,  folio,  and  the  "  Museum  Veronese,"  1749,  folio,  was  very 
highly  esteemed  in  the  literary  world  as  an  antiquary  and  virtuoso. 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  297 

LETTER  XXIV. 

Loutere,  Sep.  20,  1754. 
My  Dear  Child — I  am  extremely  delighted  by  your  last 
letter.  Your  pleasure  in  your  daughter's  company  is  exactly 
what  I  have  felt  in  yours,  and  recalls  to  me  many  tender  ideas 
perhaps  better  forgot.  You  observe  very  justly,  that  my  af- 
fection, which  was  confined  to  one,  must  be  still  more  intenso 
than  yours,  which  is  divided  among  so  many.  I  can  not  help 
being  anxious  for  their  future  welfare,  though  thoroughly  con- 
vinced of  the  folly  of  being  so.  Human  prudence  is  so  short- 
sighted that  it  is  common  to  see  the  wisest  schemes  disap- 
pointed, and  things  often  take  a  more  favorable  turn  than  there 
is  any  apparent  reason  to  expect.  My  poor  sister  Gower,  I 
really  think,  shortened  her  life  by  fretting  at  the  disagreeable 
prospect  of  a  numerous  family,  slenderly  provided  for ;  yet 
you  see  how  well  fortune  has  disposed  of  them.  You  may  be 
as  lucky  as  Lady  Selina  Batliurst.*  I  wish  Lady  Mary's  des- 
tiny may  lead  her  to  a  young  gentleman  I  saw  this  spring.j 
He  is  son  to  Judge  Hervey,  but  takes  the  name  of  Desbouverie, 
on  inheriting  a  very  large  estate  from  his  mother.  He  will  not 
charm  at  first  sight ;  but  I  never  saw  a  young  man  of  better 
understanding  with  the  strictest  notions  of  honor  and  morality, 
and,  in  my  opinion,  a  peculiar  sweetness  of  temper.  Our  ac- 
quaintance was  short,  he  being  summoned  to  England  on  the 
death  of  his  younger  brother.  I  am  persuaded  he  will  never 
marry  for  money,  nor  even  for  beauty.  Your  daughter's  char- 
acter perfectly  answers  the  description  of  what  he  wished  for 
his  bride.    Our  conversation  happened  on  the  subject  of  matri- 

*  Lady  Selina  Shirley,  daughter  of  Robert  Earl  Ferrers,  wife  of 
Peter  Bathurst,  Esq.,  of  Clarendon  Park,  "Wilts. 

f  The  gentleman  referred  to  was  the  son  of  John  Hervey  of  Beach- 
worth,  Esq.,  one  of  the  Welsh  judges,  by  Anne  eldest  daughter  of  Chris- 
topher Desbouvries  by  Elizabeth  his  wife,  daughter  and  sole  heir  of 
Ralph  Foreman,  Esq.,  of  Beachworth  in  Surrey.  This  Christopher 
was  the  youngest  son  of  Sir  Edward  DesbouvrieSj  knighted  in  1694, 
one  of  the  ancestors  of  the  Earl  of  Radnor. 

13* 


298  LETTERS    TO 

mony,  in  his  last  visit,  his  mind  being  much  perplexed  on  that 
subject,  supposing  his  father,  who  is  old  and  infirm,  had  sent 
for  him  with  some  view  of  that  sort. 

You  will  laugh  at  the  castles  I  build  in  relation  to  my 
grandchildren  ;  and  will  scarcely  think  it  possible  that  those  I 
have  never  seen  should  so  much  employ  my  thoughts.  I  can 
assure  you  that  they  are,  next  to  yourself,  the  objects  of  my 
tenderest  concern ;  and  it  is  not  from  custom,  but  my  heart, 
when  I  send  them  my  blessing,  and  say  that  I  am  your  most 
affectionate  mother. 


LETTER  XXV. 

Louvere,  1754. 

Mr  dear  Child — I  received  yours  of  September  15,  this 
morning,  October  9,  and  am  exceedingly  glad  of  the  health  of 
you  and  your  family.  I  am  fond  of  your  little  Louisa  :  to  say 
truth,  I  was  afraid  of  a  Bess,  a  Peg,  or  a  Suky,  which  all  give 
me  the  ideas  of  washing:  tubs  and  scowerinp*  of  kettles. 

I  am  much  obliged  to  Mr.  Hamilton,  which  is  according  to 
the  academy  of  compliments ;  more  his  goodness  than  my  de- 
serts: I  saw  him  but  twice,  and  both  times  in  mixed  company, 
but  am  surprised  you  have  never  mentioned  Lord  Roseberry,* 
by  whom  I  sent  a  packet  to  you,  and  took  some  pains  to  show 
him  civilities :  he  breakfasted  with  me  at  Padua :  I  gave 
him  bread  and  butter  of  my  own  manufacture,  which  is  the 
admiration  of  all  the  English.  He  promised  to  give  you  full 
information  of  myself,  and  all  my  employments.  He  seemed 
delighted  with  my  house  and  gardens,  and  perhaps  has  forgot 
he  ever  saw  me,  or  any  thing  that  belonged  to  me.  We  have 
had  many  English  here.     Mr.  G le,f  his  lady,  and  her 

*  James  Primerose,  Earl  of  Roseberry,  died  November  28,  1755. 

f  Greville.  Of  the  book  in  question,  Horace  Walpole,  in  a  letter  to 
General  Conway,  speaks  thus:  "A  wonderful  book,  by  a  more  won- 
derful author,  Greville.     Tt  is  called  Maxims  and  Characters ;  several  of 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  299 

suite  of  adorers,  deserve  particular  mention  :  lie  was  so  good 
to  present  me  with  his  curious  book :  since  the  days  of  the  Hon- 
orable Mr.  Edward,  nothing  has  ever  been  published  like  it.  I 
told  him  the  age  wanted  an  Earl  of  Dorset  to  celebrate  it  prop- 
eily ;  and  he  was  so  well  pleased  with  that  speech  that  he  visited 
me  every  day,  to  the  great  comfort  of  maclame,  who  was  enter- 
tained, meanwhile,  with  parties  of  pleasure  of  another  kind, 
though  I  fear  I  lost  his  esteem  at  last  by  refusing  to  correspond 
with  him.  However,  I  qualified  my  denial  by  complaining  of  my 
bad  eyes  not  permitting  me  to  multiply  my  correspondents.  I 
could  give  you  the  characters  of  many  other  travelers,  if  I 
thought  it  would  be  of  any  use  to  you.  It  is  melancholy  to  see 
the  pains  our  pious  minister  takes  to  debauch  the  younger  sort 
of  them :  but,  as  you  say,  all  is  melancholy  that  relates  to  Great 
Britain.  I  have  a  high  value  for  Mr.  Pitt's*  probity  and  un- 
derstanding, without  having  the  honor  of  being  acquainted 
with  him.  I  am  persuaded  he  is  able  to  do  whatever  is  within 
the  bounds  of  possibility  ;  but  there  is  an  Augcean  stable  to  be 
cleaned,  and  several  other  labors  that  I  doubt  if  Hercules  him- 
self would  be  equal  to. 


LETTER  XXVI. 

Louvere,  March  1,  1755. 
I  pity  Lady  Mary  Cokef  extremely.      You  will  be  sur- 
prised at  this  sentiment,  when  she  is  the  present  envy  of  her 
sex,  in  the  possession  of  youth,  health,  wealth,  wit,  beauty,  and 
liberty.     All  these  seeming  advantages  will  prove  snares  to 

tho  former  are  pretty ;  all  the  latter  so  absurd,  that  one  in  particular 
which  at  the  beginning  you  take  for  the  character  of  a  man,  turns  out 
to  be  the  character  of  a  post-chaise. 

*  The  first  Earl  of  Chatham. 

f  Lady  Mary  Coke,  the  fifth  daughter  of  John  Duke  of  Argyll,  was 
married  to  Edward  Lord  Viscount  Coke,  eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Leices- 
ter, who  died  in  1755.  The  title  became  extinct  in  that  family  in 
1759. 


300  LETTERS    TO 

her.  She  appears  to  me,  as  I  observed  in  a  former  instance, 
to  be  walking  blindfolded,  upon  stilts,  amid  precipices.  She  is 
at  a  dangerous  time  of  life,  when  the  passions  are  in  full  vigor, 
and,  we  are  apt  to  flatter  ourselves,  the  understanding  arrived 
at  maturity.  People  are  never  so  near  playing  the  fool  as 
when  they  think  themselves  wise  :  they  lay  aside  that  distrust 
which  is  the  surest  guard  against  indiscretion,  and  venture  oti 
many  steps  they  would  have  trembled  at  at  fifteen ;  and,  like 
children,  are  never  so  much  exposed  to  falling  as  when  they 
first  leave  off  leading-strings.  I  think  nothing  but  a  miracle,  or 
the  support  of  a  guardian  angel,  can  proiect  her.  It  is  true 
(except  I  am  much  mistaken),  nature  has  furnished  her  with 
one  very  good  defense.  I  took  particular  notice  of  her,  both 
from  my  own  liking  her,  and  her  uncommonly  obliging  be- 
havior to  me.  She  was  then  of  an  age  not  capable  of  much 
disguise,  and  I  thought  she  had  a  great  turn  to  economy :  it  is 
an  admirable  shield  against  the  most  fatal  weaknesses.  Those 
who  have  the  good  fortune  to  be  born  with  that  inclination 
seldom  ruin  themselves,  and  are  early  aware  of  the  designs  laid 
against  them.  Yet,  with  all  that  precaution,  she  will  have  so 
many  plots  contrived  for  her  destruction  that  she  will  find  it 
very  difficult  to  escape  ;  and  if  she  is  a  second  time  unhappily 
engaged,  it  will  make  her  much  more  miserable  than  the  first; 
as  all  misfortunes,  brought  on  by  our  own  imprudence,  are  the 
most  wounding  to  a  sensible  heart.  The  most  certain  security 
would  be  that  diffidence  which  naturally  arises  from  an  im- 
partial self-examination.  But  this  is  the  hardest  of  all  tasks, 
requiring  great  reflection,  long  retirement,  and  is  strongly  re- 
pugnant to  our  own  vanity,  which  very  unwillingly  reveals, 
even  to  ourselves,  our  common  frailty,  though  it  is  every  way 
a  useful  study.  Mr.  Locke,  who  has  made  a  more  exact  dis- 
section of  the  human  mind  than  any  man  before  him,  declares 
that  he  gained  all  his  knowledge  from  the  consideration  of  him- 
self. It  is  indeed  necessary  to  judge  of  others.  You  condemn 
Lord  Cornbury  without  knowing  what  he  could  say  in  his  just- 
ification.    I  am  persuaded  he  thought  he  performed  an  act  of 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  301 

rigid  justice,  in  excluding  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry  from  an 
inheritance  to  which  she  had  no  natural,  though  a  legal,  right ; 
especially  having  had  a  large  portion  from  her  real  father.  I 
have  heard  him  talk  on  that  subject  without  naming  names,  and 
call  it  a  robbery  within  the  law.  He  carried  that  notion  to  a 
great  height.  I  agreed  with  him,  that  a  woman  who  produced 
a  false  child  into  a  family,  incurred  the  highest  degree  of  guilt 
(being  irreparable);  but  I  could  not  be  of  his  opinion,  that  it 
was  the  duty  of  the  child,  in  such  a  case,  to  renounce  the  fortune 
the  law  entitled  it  to.  You  see  he  has  acted  by  a  maxim  he 
imagined  just.  Lady  E x*  being,  inside  and  out,  re- 
sembling Lord  Clarendon ;  and  whoever  remembers  Lord 
Carleton's  eyes,  must  confess  they  now  shine  in  the  Duchess's 
face.  I  am  not  bribed,  by  Lord  Cornbery's  behavior  to  me, 
to  find  excuses  for  him ;  but  I  have  always  endeavored  to  look 
on  the  conduct  of  my  acquaintance  without  any  regard  to  their 
way  of  acting  toward  me.  I  can  say,  with  truth,  I  have  strictly 
adhered  to  this  principle  whenever  I  have  been  injured  ;  but  I 
own,  to  my  shame  be  it  spoken,  the  love  of  flattery  has  some- 
times prevailed  on  me,  under  the  mask  of  gratitude,  to  think 
better  of  people  than  they  deserved,  when  they  have  professed 
more  value  for  me  than  I  was  conscious  of  meriting.  I  slide 
insensibly  into  talking  of  myself,  though  I  always  resolve 
against  it.  I  will  rescue  you  from  so  dull  a  subject  by  con- 
cluding my  letter  with  my  compliments  to  Lord  Bute,  my  bless- 
ing to  my  grandchildren,  and  the  assurance  of  my  being  ever 
your  most  affectionate  mother. 


LETTER  XXVII. 

April  1,  1T55. 
My  Dear  Child — I  have  this  minute  received  yours  of 
February  1.  I  had  one  before  (which  I  have  answered),  in  which 
you  mention  some  changes  among  your  ministerial  subalterns. 


302  LETTERS     TO 

I  see  the  motion  of  the  puppets,  but  not  the  master  that  di- 
rects them  ;  nor  can  guess  at  him.  By  the  help  of  some  mis- 
erable newspapers,  with  my  own  reflections,  I  can  form  such  a 
dim  telescope  as  serves  astronomers  to  survey  the  moon.  I 
can  discern  spots  and  inequalities,  but  your  beauties  (if  you 
have  any)  are  invisible  to  me  :  your  provinces  of  politics, 
gallantry,  and  literature,  all  terra  incognita.  The  merchant, 
who  undertook  to  deliver  my  ring  to  Lady  Jane,  assures  me  it 
is  delivered,  though  I  have  no  advice  of  it  either  from  her  or 
you.  Here  are  two  new  fortunes  far  superior  to  Miss  Craw- 
ley's. They  are  become  so  by  an  accident  which  would  be 
very  extraordinary  in  London.  Their  father  was  a  Greek, 
and  had  been  several  years  chief  farmer  of  the  customs  at 
Venice.  About  ten  days  ago,  a  creditor,  who  had  a  demand 
of  five  hundred  crowns,  was  very  importunate  with  him.  He 
answered  he  was  not  satisfied  it  was  due  to  him,  and  would 
examine  his  accounts.  After  much  pressing  without  being 
able  to  obtain  any  other  reply,  the  fellow  drew  his  stiletto,  and 
in  one  stroke  stabbed  him  to  the  heart.  The  noise  of  his  fall 
brought  in  his  servants ;  the  resolute  assassin  drew  a  pistol 
from  his  pocket  and  shot  himself  through  the  head.  The 
merchant  has  left  no  will,  and  is  said  to  have  been  worth  four 
millions  of  sequins,  all  of  which  will  be  divided  between  two 
daughters.  If  it  be  only  half  as  much,  they  are  (I  believe) 
the  greatest  heiresses  in  Europe.  It  is  certain  he  has  died 
immensely  rich.  The  eldest  lady  is  but  eighteen ;  and  both 
of  them  are  reputed  to  be  very  beautiful.  I  hear  they  de- 
clare they  will  choose  husbands  of  their  own  country  and  re- 
ligion, and  refuse  any  other  prospects.  If  they  keep  their 
resolution  I  shall  admire  them  much.  Since  they  are  des- 
tined to  be  a  prey,  'tis  a  sort  of  patriotism  to  enrich  their  own 
country  with  their  spoils.  You  put  me  out  of  patience  when 
you  complain  you  want  subjects  to  entertain  me.  You  need 
not  go  out  of  your  own  walls  for  that  purpose.  You  have 
within  them  ten  strangers  to  me,  whose  characters  interest  me 
extremely.     I  should  be  glad  to  know  something  of  them  in- 


THE     COUNTESS     OF    BUTE.  303 

side  and  out.  What  provision  of  wit  and  beauty  has  Heaven 
allotted  them  ?  I  shall  be  sorry  if  all  the  talents  have  fallen 
into  the  male  part  of  your  family.  Do  not  forget,  among  the 
books,  Fielding's  Posthumous  Works,  his  Journey  to  the 
Next  World,  and  Jon.  Wild's  Memoirs;  also  those  of  a 
Young  Lady,  and  the  History  of  London.  I  have  said  this 
already,  but  am  afraid  the  letter  is  lost  among  many  others. 


LETTER  XXVIII. 

Louvere,  July  20,  K  S.,  1755. 
My  Dear-  Child — I  have  now  read  over  the  books  you 
were  so  good  to  send,  and  intend  to  say  something  of  them 
all,  though  some  are  not  worth  speaking  of.  I  shall  begin,  in 
respect  to  his  dignity,  with  Lord  Bolingbroke,  who  is  a  glaring 
proof  how  far  vanity  can  blind  a  man,  and  how  easy  it  is  to 
varnish  over  to  one's  self  the  most  criminal  conduct.  He  de- 
clares he  always  loved  his  country,  though  he  confesses  he 
endeavored  to  betray  her  to  popery  and  slavery  ;  and  loved 
his  friends,  though  he  abandoned  them  in  distress,  with  all  the 
blackest  circumstances  of  treachery.  His  account  of  the 
peace  of  Utrecht  is  almost  equally  unfair  or  partial :  I  shall 
allow  that,  perhaps,  the  views  of  the  Whigs,  at  that  time, 
were  too  vast,  and  the  nation,  dazzled  by  military  glory,  had 
hopes  too  sanguine ;  but  surely  the  same  terms  that  the  French 
consented  to,  at  the  treaty  of  Gertruydenberg,  might  have 
been  obtained;  or  if  the  displacing  of  the  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough raised  the  spirits  of  our  enemies  to  a  degree  of  refus- 
ing what  they  had  before  offered,  how  can  he  excuse  the  guilt 
of  removing  him  from  the  head  of  a  victorious  army,  and  ex- 
posing us  to  submit  to  any  articles  of  peace,  being  unable  to 
continue  the  war?  I  agree  with  him  that  the  idea  of  conquer- 
ing France  is  a  wild  extravagant  notion,  and  would,  if  possible, 
be  impolitic ;  but  she  might  have  been  reduced  to  such  a 
state  as  would  have  rendered  her  incapable  of  being  terrible 


304  LETTERS    TO 

to  her  neighbors  for  some  ages :  nor  should  we  have  been 
obliged,  as  we  have  done  almost  ever  since,  to  bribe  the  French 
ministers  to  let  us  live  in  quiet.  So  much  for  his  political 
reasonings,  which,  I  confess,  are  delivered  in  a  florid,  easy 
style  ;  but  I  can  not  be  of  Lord  Orrery's  opinion,  that  he  is 
one  of  the  best  English  writers.  Well  turned  periods,  or 
smooth  lines,  are  not  the  perfection  either  of  prose  or  verse ; 
they  may  serve  to  adorn,  but  can  never  stand  in  the  place  of 
good  sense.  Copiousness  of  words,  however  ranged,  is  always 
false  eloquence,  though  it  will  ever  impose  on  some  sort  of 
understandings.  How  many  readers  and  admirers  has  Mad- 
ame de  Sevigne,  who  only  gives  us,  in  a  lively  manner,  and 
fashionable  phrases,  mean  sentiments,  vulgar  prejudices,  and 
endless  repetitions  ?  Sometimes  the  tittle-tattle  of  a  fine  lady, 
sometimes  that  of  an  old  nurse,  always  tittle-tattle ;  yet  so 
well  gilt  over  by  airy  expressions,  and  a  flowing  style,  she  will 
always  please  the  same  people  to  whom  Lord  Bolingbroke  will 
shine  as  a  first-rate  author.  She  is  so  far  to  be  excused  as  her 
letters  were  not  intended  for  the  press ;  while  he  labors  to 
display  to  posterity  all  the  wit  and  learning  he  is  master  of 
and  sometimes  spoils  a  good  argument  by  a  profusion  of 
words,  running  out  into  several  pages  a  thought  that  might 
have  been  more  clearly  expressed  in  a  few  lines,  and,  what  is 
worse,  often  falls  into  contradiction  and  repetitions,  which  are 
almost  unavoidable  to  all  voluminous  writers,  and  can  only  be 
forgiven  to  those  retailers  whose  necessity  compels  them  to 
diurnal  scribbling,  who  load  their  meaning  with  epithets,  and 
run  into  digressions,  because  (in  the  jockey  phrase)  it  rids 
ground,  that  is,  covers  a  certain  quantity  of  paper,  to  answer 
the  demand  of  the  day.  A  great  part  of  Lord  Bolingbroke's 
letters  are  designed  to  show  his  reading,  which,  indeed,  ap- 
pears to  have  been  very  extensive  ;  but  I  can  not  perceive  that 
such  a  minute  account  of  it  can  be  of  any  use  to  the  pupil  he 
pretends  to  instruct ;  nor  can  I  help  thinking  he  is  far  below 
either  Tillotson  or  Addison,  even  in  style,  though  the  latter 
was  sometimes  more  diffuse  than  his  judgment  approved,  to 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  305 

furnish  out  the  length  of  a  daily  Spectator.  I  own  I  have 
small  regard  for  Lord  Bolingbroke  as  an  author,  and  the  high- 
est contempt  for  him  as  a  man.  He  came  into  the  world 
greatly  favored  both  by  nature  and  fortune,  blessed  with  a  noble 
birth,  heir  to  a  large  estate,  endowed  with  a  strong  constitu- 
tion, and,  as  I  have  heard,  a  beautiful  figure,  high  spirits,  a 
good  memory,  and  a  lively  apprehension,  which  was  cultivated 
by  a  learned  education :  all  these  glorious  advantages  being 
left  to  the  direction  of  a  judgment  stifled  by  unbounded 
vanity,  he  dishonored  his  birth,  lost  his  estate,  ruined  his  repu- 
tation, and  destroyed  his  health,  by  a  wild  pursuit  of  eminence 
even  in  vice  and  trifles. 

I  am  far  from  making  misfortune  a  matter  of  reproach.  I 
know  there  are  accidental  occurrences  not  to  be  foreseen  or 
avoided  by  human  prudence,  by  which  a  character  may  be 
injured,  wealth  dissipated,  or  a  constitution  impaired :  but  I 
think  I  may  reasonably  despise  the  understanding  of  one  who 
conducts  himself  in  such  a  manner  as  naturally  produces 
such  lamentable  cou sequences,  and  continues  in  the  same  de- 
structive paths  to  the  end  of  a  long  life,  ostentatiously  boast- 
ing of  morals  and  philosophy  in  print,  and  with  equal  osten- 
tation bragging  of  the  scenes  of  low  debauchery  in  public 
conversation,  though  deplorably  weak  both  in  mind  and  body, 
and  his  virtue  and  his  vigor  in  a  state  of  non-existence.  His 
confederacy  with  Swift  and  Pope  puts  me  in  mind  of  that 
of  Bessus  and  his  swordmen,  in  the  King  and  No  King,  who 
endeavor  to  support  themselves  by  giving  certificates  of  each 
other's  merit.  Pope  has  triumphantly  declared  that  they 
may  do  and  say  whatever  silly  things  they  please,  they  will 
still  be  the  greatest  geniuses  nature  ever  exhibited.  I  am  de- 
lighted with  the  comparison  given  of  their  benevolence, 
which  is  indeed  most  amply  figured  by  a  circle  in  the  water, 
which  widens  till  it  comes  to  nothing  at  all ;  but  I  am  pro- 
voked at  Lord  Bolingbroke's  misrepresentation  of  my  favor- 
ite Atticus,  who  seems  to  have  been  the  only  Roman  that, 
from  good  sense,  had  a  true  notion  of  the  limes  in  which  he 


806  LETTERS    TO 

lived,  in  "which  the  republic  was  inevitably  perishing,  and  the 
two  factions,  who  pretended  to  support  it,  equally  endeavor- 
ing to  gratify  their  ambition  in  its  ruin.  A  wise  man,  in  that 
case,  would  certainly  declare  for  neither,  and  try  to  save  him- 
self and  family  from  the  general  wreck,  which  could  not  be 
done  but  by  a  superiority  of  understanding  acknowledged  on 
both  sides.  I  see  no  glory  in  losing  life  or  fortune  by  being 
the  dupe  of  either,  and  very  much  applaud  that  conduct  which 
could  preserve  a  universal  esteem  amid  the  fury  of  opposite 
parties.  We  are  obliged  to  act  vigorously,  where  action  can 
do  any  good  ;  but  in  a  storm,  when  it  is  impossible  to  work 
with  success,  the  best  hands  and  ablest  pilots  may  laudably 
gain  the  shore  if  they  can.  Atticus  could  be  a  friend  to  men, 
without  awakening  their  resentment,  and  be  satisfied  with  his 
own  virtue  without  seeking  popular  fame.  He  had  the  reward 
of  his  wisdom  in  his  tranquillity,  and  will  ever  stand  among 
the  few  examples  of  true  philosophy,  either  ancient  or  modern. 

You  must  forgive  this  tedious  dissertation.  I  hope  you 
read  in  the  same  spirit  I  write,  and  take  as  proof  of  affection 
whatever  is  sent  you  by  your  truly  affectionate  mother. 

I  must  add  a  few  words  on  the  Essay  on  Exile,  which  I 
read  with  attention,  as  a  subject  that  touched  me.  I  found 
the  most  abject  dejection  under  a  pretended  fortitude.  That 
the  author  felt  it,  can  be  no  doubt  to  one  who  knows  (as  I  do) 
the  mean  submissions  and  solemn  promises  he  made  to  ob- 
tain a  return,  flattering  himself  (I  suppose)  he  must  of  course 
appear  to  be  at  the  head  of  the  administration,  as  every  en- 
sign of  sixteen  fancies  he  is  in  a  fair  way  to  be  a  general, 
on  the  first  sight  of  his  commission. 

You  will  think  I  have  been  too  long  on  the  character  of 
Atticus.  I  own  I  took  pleasure  in  explaining  it.  Pope 
thought  himself  covertly  very  severe  on  Addison,  by  giving 
him  that  name  ;  and  I  feel  indignation  whenever  he  is  abused, 
both  from  his  own  merit,  and  because  he  was  ever  your  fa- 
ther's friend ;  besides  that,  it  is  naturally  disgusting  to  see 
him  lampooned  after  his  death  by  the  same  man  who  paid 


THE    COUNTESS    OP    BUTE.  30? 

him  the  most  servile  court  while  he  lived,  and  was,  besides 
highly  obliged  by  him. 


LETTER  XXIX. 

Louvere,  September  22,  1755. 
My  dear  Child — I  received,  two  days  ago,  the  box  of 
books  you  were  so  kind  to  send ;  but  I  can  scarce  say 
whether  my  pleasure  or  disappointment  was  the  greater.  I 
was  much  pleased  to  see  before  me  a  fund  of  amusement, 
but  heartily  vexed  to  find  your  letter  consisting  only  of  three 
lines  and  a  half.  Why  will  you  not  employ  -Lady  Mary  as 
secretary,  if  it  is  troublesome  to  you  to  write  ?  I  have  told 
you  over  and  over  you  may  at  the  same  time  oblige  your 
mother  and  improve  your  daughter,  both  which  I  should 
think  very  agreeable  to  yourself.  You  can  never  want  some- 
thing to  say.  The  history  of  your  nursery,  if  you  had  no 
other  subject  to  write  on,  would  be  very  acceptable  to  me.  I 
am  such  a  stranger  to  every  thing  in  England,  I  should  be 
glad  to  hear  more  particulars  relating  to  the  families  I  am 
acquainted  with — if  Miss  Liddel*  marries  the  Lord  Euston  I 
know,  or  his  nephew,  who  has  succeeded  him  ;  if  Lord  Berke- 
ley! nas  1^  children ;  and  several  trifles  of  that  sort,  that 
would  be  a  satisfaction  to  my  curiosity.  I  am  sorry  for 
H.  Fielding's  death,  not  only  as  I  shall  read  no  more  of  his 
writings,  but  I  believe  he  lost  more  than  others,  as  no  man 
enjoyed  life  more  than  he  did,  though  few  had  less  reason  to 
do  so,  the  highest  of  his  preferment  being  raking  in  the  low- 
est sinks  of  vice  and  misery.  I  should  think  it  a  nobler  and 
less  nauseous  employment  to  be  one  of  the  staff-ofricers  that 
conduct  the  nocturnal  weddings.  His  happy  constitution 
(even  when  he  had,  with  great  pains,  half  demolished  it)  made 

*  Married  Augustus  Henry  Duke  of  Grafton,  January  29,  175G. 
f  Augustus  Earl  of  Berkeley  died  January  9,  1755,  and  left  two 
sons  and  two  daughters. 


308  LETTERS    TO 

him  forget  every  thing  when  he  was  before  a  venison  pasty, 
or  over  a  flask  of  Champagne,  and  I  am  persuaded  he  has 
known  more  happy  moments  than  any  prince  upon  earth. 
His  natural  spirits  gave  him  rapture  with  his  cook-maid,  and 
cheerfulness  when  he  was  starving  in  a  garret.  There  was 
a  great  similitude  between  his  character  and  that  of  Sir 
Richard  Steele.  He  had  the  advantage  both  in  learning,  and, 
in  my  opinion,  genius.  They  both  agreed  in  wanting  money 
in  spite  of  all  their  friends,  and  would  have  wanted  it,  if  their 
hereditary  lands  had  been  as  extensive  as  their  imagination ; 
yet  each  of  them  was  so  formed  for  happiness  it  is  pity  he 
was  not  immortal.  I  have  read  The  Cry ;  and  if  I  would 
write  in  the  style  to  be  admired  by  good  Lord  Orrery,  I  would 
tell  you  "  The  Cry"  made  me  ready  to  cry,  and  the  "  Art  of 
Tormenting"  tormented  me  very  much.  I  take  them  to  be 
Sally  Fielding's,  and  also  the  Female  Quixote :  the  plan  of 
that  is  pretty,  but  ill-executed  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  fable  of 
The  Cry  is  the  most  absurd  I  ever  saw,  but  the  sentiments 
generally  just ;  and  I  think,  if  well  dressed,  would  make  a 
better  body  of  ethics  than  Bolingbroke's.  Her  inventing  new 
words  that  are  neither  more  harmonious  nor  significant  than 
those  already  in  use,  is  intolerable.  The  most  edifying  pail 
of  the  journey  to  Lisbon  is  the  history  of  the  kitten.  I  was 
the  more  touched  by  it,  having  a  few  days  before  found  one, 
in  deplorable  circumstances,  in  a  neighboring  vineyard.  I 
did  not  only  relieve  her  present  wants  with  some  excellent 
milk,  but  had  her  put  into  a  clean  basket,  and  brought  to  my 
own  house,  where  she  has  lived  ever  since  very  comfortably. 

I  desire  to  have  Fielding's  Posthumous  Works,  with  his 
Memoirs  of  Jonathan  Wild,  and  Journey  to  the  next  World ; 
also  the  Memoirs  of  Verocand,  a  man  of  pleasure,  and  those  of 
a  Young  Lady.  You  will  call  this  trash,  trumpery,  etc.  I  can 
assure  you  I  was  more  entertained  by  G.  Edwards  than  H.  St. 
John,  of  whom  you  have  sent  me  duplicates.  I  see  new  story 
books  with  the  same  pleasure  your  eldest  daughter  does  a  new 
dress,  or  the  youngest  a  new  baby.     I  thank  God  I  can  find 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  309 

playthings  for  my  age.  I  am  not  of  Cowley's  mind,  that  this 
world  is — 

A  dull,  ill-acted  comedy : 

Nor  of  Mrs.  Philips's,  that  it  is — 

A  too  well  acted  tragedy. 

I  look  upon  it  as  a  very  pretty  farce,  for  those  that  can  see  it 
in  that  light.  I  confess  a  severe  critic,  that  would  examine  by 
ancient  rules,  might  fix  many  defects ;  but  'tis  ridiculous  to 
judge  seriously  of  a  puppet-show.  Those  that  can  laugh,  and 
be  diverted  with  absurdities,  are  the  wisest  spectators,  be  it  of 
writings,  actions,  or  people. 

The  Stage-Coach  has  some  grotesque  figures  that  amuse :  I 
place  it  in  the  rank  of  Charlotte  Summers,  and  perhaps  it  is  by 
the  same  author.  I  am  pleased  with  Sir  Herald  for  recording 
a  generous  action  of  the  Duke  of  Montagu,  which  I  know  to 
be  true,  with  some  variation  of  circumstances.  You  should 
have  given  me  a  key  to  the  Invisible  Spy,  particularly  to  the 
catalogue  of  books  in  it.  I  know  not  whether  the  conjugal 
happiness  of  the  Duke  of  Bedford  is  intended  as  a  compliment 
or  an  irony. 

This  letter  is  as  long  and  as  dull  as  any  of  Richardson's.  I 
am  ashamed  of  it,  notwithstanding  my  maternal  privilege  of 
being  tiresome. 

I  return  many  thanks  to  Lord  Bute  for  the  china,  which  I 
am  sure  I  shall  be  very  fond  of,  though  I  have  not  yet  seen  it. 
I  wish  for  three  of  Pinchbeck's  watches,  shagreen  cases,  and  en- 
ameled dial-plates.  When  I  left  England  they  were  five 
guineas  each.  You  may  imagine  they  are  for  presents ;  one 
for  my  doctor,  who  is  exactly  Parson  Adams  in  another  pro- 
fession, and  the  others  for  two  priests,  to  whom  I  have  some 
obligations. 

This  Richardson  is  a  strange  fellow.  I  heartily  despise  him, 
and  eagerly  read  him,  nay,  sob  over  his  works,  in  a  most  scan- 
dalous manner.     The  two  first  tomes  of  Clarissa  touched  me, 


310  LETTERS     TO 

as  being  very  resembling  to  my  maiden  days ;  and  I  find  in  the 
pictures  of  Sir  Thomas  Grandison  and  his  lady  what  I  have 
heard  of  my  mother,  and  seen  of  my  father. 

This  letter  is  grown  (I  know  not  how)  into  an  immeasurable 
length.  I  answer  it  to  my  conscience  as  a  just  judgment  on 
you  for  the  shortness  of  yours.  Remember  my  unalterable 
maxim,  where  we  love  we  have  always  something  to  say;  con- 
sequently my  pen  never  tires  when  expressing  to  you  the 
thoughts  of  your  most  affectionate  mother. 


LETTER  XXX. 

Louvere,  March  2,  N.  S.,  IT 56. 
Dear  Child — I  had  the  happiness  of  a  letter  from  your 
father  last  post,  by  which  I  find  you  are  in  good  health,  though 
I  have  not  heard  from  you  for  a  long  time.  This  frequent  in- 
terruption of  our  correspondence  is  a  great  uneasiness  to  me : 
I  charge  it  on  the  neglect  or  irregularity  of  the  post.  I  sent 
you  a  letter  by  Mr.  Anderson  a  great  while  ago,  to  which  I 
never  had  any  answer :  neither  have  I  ever  heard  from  him 
since,  though  I  am  fully  persuaded  he  has  wrote  concerning 
some  little  commissions  I  gave  him.  I  should  be  very  sorry  he 
thought  I  neglected  to  thank  him  for  his  civilities.  I  desire 
Lord  Bute  would  inquire  about  him.  I  saw  him  in  company 
with  a  very  pretty  pupil,  who  seemed  to  me  a  promising  youth. 
I  wish  he  would  fall  in  love  with  my  granddaughter.  I  dare 
say  you  laugh  at  this  early  design  of  providing  for  her :  take  it 
as  a  mark  of  my  affection  for  you  and  yours,  which  is  without 
any  mixture  of  self-interest,  since,  with  my  age  and  infirmities, 
there  is  little  probability  of  my  living  to  see  them  established. 
I  no  more  expect  to  arrive  at  the  age  of  the  Duchess  of  Marl- 
borough than  that  of  Methuselah ;  neither  do  I  desire  it.  I 
have  long  thought  myself  useless  to  the  world.  I  have  seen 
one  generation  pass  away ;  and  it  is  gone ;  for  I  think  there 
are  very  few  of  those  left  that  flourished  in  my  youih.     You 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  311 

will  perhaps  call  these  melancholy  reflections :  they  are  not  so. 
There  is  a  quiet  after  the  abandoning  of  pursuits,  something 
like  the  rest  that  follows  a  laborious  day.  I  tell  you  this  for 
your  comfort.  It  was  formerly  a  terrifying  view  to  me  that  I 
should  one  day  be  an  old  woman.  I  now  find  that  nature  has 
provided  pleasures  for  every  state.  Those  are  only  unhappy 
who  will  not  be  contented  with  what  she  gives,  but  strive  to 
break  through  her  laws,  by  affecting  a  perpetuity  of  youth, 
which  appears  to  me  as  little  desirable  at  present  as  the  babies 
do  to  you  that  were  the  delight  of  your  infancy.  I  am  at  the 
end  of  my  paper,  which  shortens  the  sermon. 


LETTER  XXXI. 

Venice,  March  22,  1756. 

I  have  received,  but  this  morning,  the  first  box  of  china  Lord 
Bute  has  been  so  obliging  to  send  me.  I  am  quite  charmed 
with  it,  but  wish  you  had  sent  in  it  the  note  of  the  contents ; 
it  has  been  so  long  deposited  that  it  is  not  impossible  some 
diminution  may  have  happened.  Every  thing  that  comes  from 
England  is  precious  to  ine,  to  the  very  hay  that  is  employed 
in  packing.  I  should  be  glad  to  know  any  thing  that  could 
be  an  agreeable  return  from  hence.  There  are  many  things  I 
could  send;  but  they  are  either  contraband,  or  the  custom 
would  cost  more  than  tney  are  worth.  I  look  out  for  a  picture ; 
the  few  that  are  in  this  part  of  Italy  are  those  that  remain  in 
families,  where  they  are  entailed,  and  I  might  as  well  pretend 
to  send  you  a  palace.  I  am  extremely  pleased  with  the  ac- 
count you  gave  of  your  father's  health.  I  have  wrote  to  desire 
his  consent  in  the  disposal  of  poor  Lady  Oxford's  legacy ;  I  do 
not  doubt  obtaining  it.  It  has  been  both  my  interest  and  my 
duty  to  study  his  character,  and  I  can  say,  with  truth,  I  never 
knew  any  man  so  capable  of  a  generous  action. 

A  late  adventure  here  makes  a  great  noise  from  the  rank  of 
the  people  concerned:  the  Marchioness  Licinia  Bentivoglio, 


312  LETTERS     TO 

who  was  heiress  of  one  branch  of  the  Martineiighi,  and  brougnt 
ten  thousand  gold  sequins  to  her  husband,  and  the  expectation 
of  her  father's  estate,  three  thousand  pounds  sterling  per  an- 
num, the  most  magnificent  palace  at  Brescia  (finer  than  any  in 
London),  another  in  the  country,  and  many  other  advantages 
of  woods,  plate,  jewels,  etc.  The  Cardinal  Bentivoglio,  his 
uncle,  thought  he  could  not  choose  better,  though  his  nephew 
might  certainly  have  chose  among  all  the  Italian  ladies,  being 
descended  from  the  sovereigns  of  Bologna,  actually  a  grandee 
of  Spain,  a  noble  Venetian,  and  in  possession  of  twenty-five 
thousand  pounds  sterling  per  annum,  with  immense  wealth  in 
palaces,  furniture,  and  absolute  dominion  in  some  of  his  lands. 
The  girl  was  pretty,  and  the  match  was  with  the  satisfaction  of 
both  families ;  but  sbe  brought  with  her  such  a  diabolical 
temper,  and  such  Luciferan  pride,  that  neither  husband,  re- 
lations, or  servants,  had  ever  a  moment's  peace  with  her. 
After  about  eight  years'  warfare,  she  eloped  one  fair  morning, 
and  took  refuge  in  Venice,  leaving  her  two  daughters,  the 
eldest  scarce  six  years  old,  to  the  care  of  the  exasperated  Mar- 
quis. Her  father  was  so  angry  at  her  extravagant  conduct 
that  he  would  not,  for  some  time,  receive  her  into  his  house  ; 
but,  after  some  months,  and  much  solicitation,  parental  fond- 
ness prevailed,  and  she  has  remained  with  him  ever  since,  not- 
withs  anding  all  the  efforts  of  her  husband,  who  tried  kindness, 
submission,  and  threats,  to  no  purpose.  The  Cardinal  came 
twice  to  Brescia,  her  own  father  joined  his  entreaties,  nay,  his 
holiness  wrote  a  letter  with  his  own  hands,  and  made  use  of  the 
Church  authority,  but  he  found  it  harder  to  reduce  one  woman 
than  ten  heretics.  She  was  inflexible,  and  lived  ten  years  in 
this  state  of  reprobation.  Her  father  died  last  winter,  and  left 
her  his  whole  estate  for  her  life,  and  afterward  to  her  chil- 
dren. Her  eldest  was  now  marriageable,  and  disposed  of  to 
the  nephew  of  Cardinal  Valentino  Gonzagua,  first  minister  at 
Rome.  She  would  neither  appear  at  the  wedding,  nor  take 
the  least  notice  of  a  dutiful  letter  sent  by  the  bride.  The  old 
Cardinal  (who  was  passionately  fond  of  his  illustrious  namp) 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  313 

was  so  much  touched  with  the  apparent  extinction  of  it  that  it 
was  thought  to  have  hastened  his  death.  She  continued  in  the 
enjoyment  of  her  ill-humor,  living  in  great  splendor,  though 
almost  solitary,  having,  by  some  impertinence  or  other,  dis- 
gusted all  her  acquaintance,  till  about  a  month  ago,  when  her 
woman  brought  her  a  basin  of  broth,  which  she  usually  drank 
in  her  bed.  She  took  a  few  spoonfuls  of  it,  and  then  cried  out 
it  was  so  bad  it  was  impossible  to  endure  it.  Her  chamber- 
maids were  so  used  to  hear  her  exclamations  that  they  ate  it  up 
very  comfortably ;  they  were  both  seized  with  the  same  pangs, 
and  died  the  next  day.  She  sent  for  physicians,  who  judged 
her  poisoned  ;  but,  as  she  had  taken  a  small  quantity,  by  the 
help  of  antidotes  she  recovered,  yet  is  still  in  a  languishing  con- 
dition. Her  cook  was  examined,  and  racked,  always  protesting 
entire  innocence,  and  swearing  he  had  made  the  soup  in  the 
same  manner  he  was  accustomed.  You  may  imagine  the 
noise  of  this  affair.  She  loudly  accused  her  husband,  it  being 
the  interest  of  no  other  person  to  wish  her  out  of  the  world. 
He  resides  at  Ferrara  (about  which  the  greatest  part  of  his 
lands  lie),  and  was  soon  informed  of  this  accident.  He  sent 
doctors  to  her,  whom  she  would  not  see,  sent  vast  alms  to  all 
the  convents  to  pray  for  her  health,  and  ordered  a  number  of 
masses  to  be  said  in  every  church  of  Brescia  and  Ferrara.  He 
sent  letters  to  the  senate  at  Venice,  and  published  manifestos 
in  all  the  capital  cities,  in  which  he  professes  his  affection  to 
her,  and  abhorrence  of  any  attempt  against  her,  and  has  a  cloud 
of  witnesses  that  he  never  gave  her  the  least  reason  of  com- 
plaint, and  even  since  her  leaving  him  has  always  spoke  of  her 
with  kindness,  and  courted  her  return.  He  is  said  to  be  re- 
markably sweet-tempered,  and  has  the  best  character  of  any 
man  of  quality  in  this  country.  If  the  death  of  her  women  did 
not  seem  to  confirm  it,  her  accusation  would  gain  credit  with 
nobody.  She  is  certainly  very  sincere  in  it  herself,  being  so 
persuaded  he  has  resolved  her  death  that  she  dare  not  take 
the  air,  apprehending  to  be  assassinated,  and  has  imprisoned 
herself  in  her  chamber,  where  she  will  neither  eat  nor  drink 

14 


314  LETTERS      TO 

l 

any  thing  that  she  does  not  see  tasted  by  all  her  servants.  The 
physicians  now  say  that  perhaps  the  poison  might  fell  into  the 
broth  accidentally ;  I  confess  I  do  not  perceive  the  possibility 
of  it.  As  to  the  cook  suffering  the  rack,  that  is  a  mere  jest, 
where  people  have  money  enough  to  bribe  the  executioner.  I 
decide  nothing ;  but  such  is  the  present  destiny  of  a  lady  who 
would  have  been  one  of  Richardson's  heroines,  having  never 
been  suspected  of  the  least  gallantry  ;  hating,  and  being  hated 
universally ;  of  a  most  noble  spirit,  it  being  proverbial — "  as 
proud  as  the  Marchioness  Licinia." 


LETTER  XXXn. 

Louvere,  June  10,  1757. 
It  is  very  true,  my  dear  child,  we  can  not  now  maintain  a 
family  with  the  product  of  a  flock,  though  I  do  not  doubt  the 
present  sheep  afford  as  much  wool  and  milk  as  any  of  their 
ancestors  ;  and  'tis  certain  our  natural  wants  are  not  more 
numerous  than  formerly ;  but  the  world  is  past  its  infancy, 
and  will  no  longer  be  contented  with  spoon-meat.  Time  has 
added  great  improvements,  but  those  very  improvements  have 
introduced  a  train  of  artificial  necessities.  A  collective  body 
of  men  make  a  gradual  progress  in  understanding,  like  that 
of  a  single  individual.  When  I  reflect  on  the  vast  increase  of 
useful,  as  well  as  speculative  knowledge,  the  last  three  hun- 
dred years  has  produced,  and  that  the  peasants  of  this  age 
have  more  conveniences  than  the  first  emperors  of  Rome  had 
any  notion  of,  I  imagine  we  are  now  arrived  at  that  period 
which  answers  to  fifteen.  I  can  not  think  we  are  older,  when 
I  recollect  the  many  palpable  follies  which  are  still  (almost) 
universally  persisted  in :  I  place  that  of  war  as  senseless  as 
the  boxing  of  school-boys,  and  whenever  we  come  to  man's 
estate  (perhaps  a  thousand  years  hence)  I  do  not  doubt  it  will 
appear  as  ridiculous  as  the  pranks  of  unlucky  lads.  Several 
discoveries  will  then  be  made,  and  several  truths  made  clear, 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  315 

of  which  we  have  now  no  more  idea  than  the  ancients  had  of 
the  circulation  of  the  blood,  or  the  optics  of  Sir  Isaac  New- 
ton. 

I  expect  a  letter  of  thanks  from  my  granddaughter :  I 
wrote  to  my  grandmother  long  before  her  age.  I  desire  you 
would  not  see  it,  being  willing  to  judge  of  her  genius.  I 
know  I  shall  read  it  with  some  partiality,  which  I  can  not 
avoid  to  all  that  is  yours,  as  I  am  your  most  affectionate 
mother. 


LETTER  XXXm. 

Padua,  Sept.  5,  1757. 
I  wrote  to  you  very  lately,  my  dear  child,  in  answer  to  that 
letter  Mr.  Hamilton  brought  me  :  he  was  so  obliging  to  come 
on  purpose  from  Venice  to  deliver  it,  as  I  believe  I  told  you ; 
but  I  am  so  highly  delighted  with  this,  dated  August  4,  giv- 
ing an  account  of  your  little  colony,  I  can  not  help  setting  pen 
to  paper  to  tell  you  the  melancholy  joy  I  had  in  reading  it. 
You  would  have  laughed  to  see  the  old  fool  weep  over  it.  I 
now  find  that  age,  when  it  does  not  harden  the  heart  and  sour 
the  temper,  naturally  returns  to  the  milky  disposition  of  in- 
fancy. Time  has  the  same  effect  on  the  mind  as  on  the  face. 
The  predominant  passion,  the  strongest  feature,  become  more 
conspicuous  from  the  others  retiring  ;  the  various  views  of  life 
are  abandoned,  from  want  of  ability  to  preserve  them,  as  the 
fine  complexion  is  lost  in  wrinkles  :  but,  as  surely  as  a  large 
nose  grows  larger,  and  the  wide  mouth  wider,  the  tender  child 
in  your  nursery  will  be  a  tender  old  woman,  though,  perhaps, 
reason  may  have  restrained  the  appearance  of  it,  till  the  mind, 
relaxed,  is  no  longer  capable  of  concealing  its  weakness ;  for 
weakness  it  is  to  indulge  any  attachment  at  a  period  of  life 
when  we  are  sure  to  part  with  life  itself,  at  very  short  warn^ 
ing.  According  to  the  good  English  proverb,  young  people 
may  die,  but  old  must.     You  see  I  am  very  industrious  in 


316  LETTERS     TO 

finding-  comfort  to  myself  in  my  exit,  and  to  guard,  as  long  as 
I  can,  against  the  peevishness  which  makes  age  miserable  in 
itself  and  contemptible  to  others.  'Tis  surprising  to  me  that, 
with  the  most  inoffensive  conduct,  I  should  meet  enemies, 
when  I  can  not  be  envied  for  any  thing,  and  have  pretensions 
to  nothing. 

Is  it  possible,  the  old  Colonel  Duncombe*  I  knew,  should 
be  Lord  Feversham,  and  married  to  a  young  wife  ?  As  to 
Lord  Ranelagh,  I  confess  it  must  be  a  very  bitter  draught  to 
submit  to  take  his  name,  but  his  lady  has  had  a  short  purga- 
tory, and  now  enjoys  affluence  with  a  man  she"  likes,  who  I  am 
told  is  a  man  of  merit,  which  I  suppose  she  thinks  preferable 
to  Lady  Selina's  nursery.  Here  are  no  old  people  in  this  coun- 
try, neither  in  dress  or  gallantry.  I  know  only  my  friend 
Antonio,  who  is  true  to  the  memory  of  his  adored  lady ;  her 
picture  is  always  in  his  sight,  and  he  talks  of  her  in  the  style 
of  pastor  fido.  I  believe  I  owe  his  favor  to  having  shown  him 
her  miniature  by  Rosalba,  which  I  bought  at  London :  per- 
haps you  remember  it  in  my  little  collection  :  he  is  really  a 
man  of  worth  and  sense.  Hearing  it  reported,  I  need  not  say 
by  whom,  that  my  retirement  was  owing  to  having  lost  all 
my  money  at  play,  at  Avignon,  he  sent  privately  for  my  chief 
servant,  and  desired  him  to  tell  him  naturally  if  I  was  in  any 
distress ;  and  not  only  offered,  but  pressed  him  to  lay  three 
thousand  sequins  on  my  toilet.  I  don't  believe  I  could  bor- 
row that  sum,  without  good  security,  among  my  great  relations. 
I  thank  God  I  had  no  occasion  to  make  use  of  his  generosity ; 
but  I  am  sure  you  will  agree  with  me  that  I  ought  never  to 
forget  the  obligation.  I  could  give  some  other  instances  in 
which  he  has  shown  his  friendship  in  protecting  me  from 
mortifications,  invented  by  those  that  ought  to  have  assisted 
me  ;  but  'tis  a  long  tiresome  story.  You  will  be  surprised  to 
hear  the  general  does  not  yet  know  these  circumstances ;  he 

*  Anthony  Duncombe,  created  Lord  Feversham  in  1747  ;  which  title 
became-extinct  in  1763  on  his  dying  without  male  issue.  He  was  the 
nephew  of  Sir  Charles  Duncombe,  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  1709. 


THE     COUNTESS    OF    BUTE.  317 

arrived  at  Venice  but  a  few  days  before  I  left  it ;  and  prom- 
ising me  to  come  to  Padua,  at  the  fair,  I  thought  I  should 
have  time  sufficient  to  tell  him  my  history.  Indeed,  I  was  in 
hopes  he  would  have  accepted  my  invitation  of  lodging  in  my 
house ;  but  his  multiplicity  of  affairs  hindered  him  from  com- 
ing at  all.  'Tis  only  a  few  days  since  that  he  made  me  a  visit, 
in  company  with  Mr.  Hamilton,  before  whom  I  did  not  think 
it  proper  to  speak  my  complaints.  They  are  now  gone  to 
drink  the  waters  at  Vicenza :  when  they  return,  I  intend  re- 
moving to  Venice,  and  then  shall  relate  my  grievances,  which 
I  have  more  reason  to  do  than  ever.  I  have  tired  you  with 
this  disagreeable  subject :  I  will  release  you,  and  please  my- 
self in  repeating  the  assurance  of  my  being  ever,  while  I  have 
a  being,  your  most  affectionate  mother. 

My  dear  child,  do  not  think  of  reversing  nature  by  making 
me  presents.  I  would  send  you  all  my  jewels  and  my  toilet 
if  I  knew  how  to  convey  them,  though  they  are  in  some 
measure  necessary  in  this  country,  where  it  would  be,  perhaps, 
reported  I  had  pawned  them,  if  they  did  not  sometimes  make 
their  appearance.  I  know  not  how  to  send  commissions  for 
things  I  never  saw ;  nothing  of  price  I  would  have,  as  I  would 
not  new  furnish  an  inn  I  was  on  the  point  of  leaving,  for  such 
is  this  world  to  me.  Though  china  is  in  such  high  estimation 
here,  I  have  sometimes  an  inclination  to  desire  your  father  to 
send  me  the  two  large  jars  that  stood  in  the  windows  in  Cav- 
endish Square,  I  am  sure  he  don't  value  them,  and  believe  they 
would  be  of  no  use  to  you.  I  bought  them  at  an  auction,  for 
two  guineas,  before  the  Duke  of  Argyll's  example  had  made 
all  china,  more  or  less,  fashionable. 


LETTER  XXXTV. 

Louvere,  September  30,  1757. 
My  dear  Child — Lord  Bute  has  been  so  obliging  as  to 
let  me  know  your  safe  delivery,  and  the  birth  of  another  daugh- 


318  LETTERS    TO 

ter.  May  she  be  as  meritorious  in  your  eyes  as  you  are  in 
mine !  I  can  wish  nothing  better  to  you  both,  though  I  have 
some  reproaches  to  make  you.  Daughter !  daughter !  donTt 
call  names ;  you  are  always  abusing  my  pleasures,  which  is 
what  no  mortal  will  bear.  Trash,  lumber,  sad  stuff,  are  the 
titles  you  give  to  my  favorite  amusement.  If  I  called  a 
white  staff  a  stick  of  wood,  a  gold  key  gilded  brass,  and  the 
ensigns  of  illustrious  orders  colored  strings,  this  may  be  phil- 
osophically true,  but  would  be  very  ill  received.  We  have 
all  our  playthings  ;  happy  are  they  that  can  be  contented  with 
those  they  can  obtain.  Those  hours  are  spent  in  the  wisest 
manner  that  can  easiest  shade  the  ills  of  life,  and  are  the  least 
productive  of  ill  consequences.  I  think  my  time  better  em- 
ployed in  reading  the  adventures  of  imaginary  people,  than 
the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  who  passed  the  latter  years  of 
her  life  in  paddling  with  her  will,  and  contriving  schemes  of 
plaguing  some,  and  extracting  praise  from  others,  to  no  pur- 
pose :  eternally  disappointed,  and  eternally  fretting.  The  act- 
ive scenes  are  over  at  my  age.  I  inlulg*e,  with  all  the  art  I 
can,  my  taste  for  reading.  If  I  would  confine  it  to  valuable 
books,  they  are  almost  as  rare  as  valuable  men.  I  must  be 
content  with  what  I  can  find.  As  I  approach  a  second  child- 
hood, I  endeavor  to  enter  into  the  pleasures  of  it.  Your 
youngest  son  is,  perhaps,  at  this  very  moment,  riding  on  a 
poker,  with  great  delight,  not  at  all  regretting  that  it  is  not  a 
gold  one,  and  much  less  wishing  it  an  Arabian  horse,  which 
he  could  not  know  how  to  manage.  I  am  reading  an  idle 
tale,  not  expecting  wit  or  truth  in  it,  and  am  very  glad  it  is 
not  metaphysics  to  puzzle  my  judgment,  or  history  to  mislead 
my  opinion.  He  fortifies  his  health  by  exercise  ;  I  calm  my 
cares  by  oblivion.  The  methods  may  appear  low  to  busy 
people  ;  but  if  he  improves  his  strength,  and  I  forget  my  in- 
firmities, we  both  attain  very  desirable  ends. 

I   have   not   heard  from  your  father  for  a   long  time.     ] 
hope  he  is  well,  because  you  do  not  mention  him. 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  319 

LETTER  XXXV. 

Venice,  January  20,  1758. 

I  am  always  glad  to  hear  of  my  dear  child's  health,  and 
daily  pray  for  the  continuance  of  it,  and  all  other  blessings 
Gn  you  and  your  family.  The  carnival  hitherto  has  been 
clouded  by  extremely  wet  weather,  but  we  are  in  hopes  that 
the  sunshine  is  reserved  for  the  second  part  of  it,  when  the 
morning  masquerades  give  all  the  ladies  an  opportunity  of 
displaying  both  their  magnificence  and  their  taste,  in  the  va- 
rious habits  that  appear  at  that  time.  I  was  very  well  di- 
verted by  them  last  year.  I  hear  Rome  is  crammed  with 
Britons,  and  suppose  we  shall  see  them  all  in  their  turns. 
I  can  not  say  that  the  rising  generation  gives  any  general 
prospect  of  improvement  either  in  the  arts  or  sciences,  or  in 
any  thing  else.  I  am  exceedingly  pleased  that  the  Duchess 
of  Portland  is  happy  in  her  son-in-law.  I  must  ever  interest 
myself  in  what  happens  to  any  descendant  of  Lady  Oxford. 
I  expect  that  my  books  and  china  should  set  out,  they  will 
be  a  great  amusement  to  me,  I  mix  so  little  with  the  gay 
world,  and  at  present  my  garden  is  quite  useless. 

Venice  is  not  a  place  to  make  a  man's  fortune  in.  As  for 
those  who  have  money  to  throw  away,  they  may  do  it  here 
more  agreeably  than  in  any  town  I  know  ;  strangers  being 
received  with  great  civility,  and  admitted  into  all  their  par- 
ties of  pleasure.  But  it  requires  a  good  estate,  and  good 
constitution,  to  play  deep,  and  pass  so  many  sleepless  nights, 
as  is  customary  in  the  best  company. 

I  am  invited  to  a  great  wedding  to-morrow,  which  will 
be  in  the  most  splendid  manner,  to  the  contentment  of  both 
the  families,  every  thing  being  equal,  even  the  indifference  of 
the  bride  and  bridegroom,  though  each  of  them  is  extremely 
pleased,  by  being  set  free  from  governors  or  governesses. 
To  say  truth,  I  think  they  are  less  likely  to  be  disappointed, 
in  the  plan  they  have  formed,  than  any  of  our  romantic 
couples,  who  have  their  heads  full  of  love  and  constancy. 


S20  LETTERS      TO 

I  stay  here,  though  I  am  on  many  accounts  better  pleased 
with  Padua.  Our  great  minister,  the  resident,  affects  to 
treat  me  as  one  in  the  opposition.  I  am  inclined  to  laugh 
rather  than  be  displeased  at  his  political  airs ;  yet,  as  I  am 
among  strangers,  they  are  disagreeable ;  and,  could  I  have 
foreseen  them,  would  have  settled  in  some  other  part  of  the 
world ;  but  I  have  taken  leases  of  my  houses,  been  at  much 
pains  and  expense  in  furnishing  them,  and  am  no  longer  at 
an  age  to  make  long  journeys.  I  saw,  some  months  ago,  a 
countryman  of  yours  (Mr.  Adam*),  who  desires  to  be  introduced 
to  you.  He  seemed  to  me,  in  one  short  visit,  to  be  a  man 
of  genius,  and  I  have  heard  his  knowledge  of  architecture 
much  applauded.     He  is  now  in  England. 

Your  account  of  the  changes  in  ministerial  affairs  do  not 
surprise  me;  but  nothing  could  be  more  astonishing  than 
their  all  coming  in  together.  It  puts  me  in  mind  of  a 
friend  of  mine  who  had  a  large  family  of  favorite  animals, 
and,  not  knowing  how  to  convey  them  to  his  country-house 
in  separate  equipages,  he  ordered  a  Dutch  mastiff,  a  cat  and 
her  kittens,  a  monkey,  and  a  parrot,  all  to  be  packed  up  to- 
gether in  one  large  hamper,  and  sent  by  a  wagon.  One  may 
easily  guess  how  this  set  of  company  made  their  journey  ; 
and  I  have  never  been  able  to  think  of  the  present  compound 
ministry  without  the  idea  of  barking,  scratching,  and  scream- 
ing.f  'Tis  too  ridiculous  a  one,  I  own,  for  the  gravity  of  their 
characters,  and  still  more  for  the  situation  the  kingdom  is  in ; 
for,  as  much  as  one  may  encourage  the  love  of  laughter,  'tis 
impossible  to  be  indifferent  to  the  welfare  of  one's  native 
country. 

*  Mr.  Robert  Adam,  who  built  Caen- Wood,  Luton-Park,  etc..  and 
the  Adelphi  in  conjunction  with  his  brother.  His  designs  are  pub- 
lished. 

f  This  story  has  been  versified  by  Lord  Byron  (Don  Juan,  canto  iii. 
stanza  18),  but  without  any  reference  to  the  source  from  whence  he 
drew  it.  Lady  Mary  introduces  it  with  some  point,  to  illustrate  her 
notion  of  the  good  understanding  which  might  be  expected  to  exist 
n*v>^rig  the  members  of  an  administration  composed  of  very  discord* 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  321 

LETTER  XXXVI. 

Venice,  1758. 

Dear  Child — I  received  yours  of  the  20th  of  February 
yesterday,  May  the  2d,  so  irregular  is  the  post.  [  could  for- 
give the  delay,  but  I  can  not  pardon  the  loss  of  so  many  that 
have  never  arrived  at  all.  Mr.  Hamilton  is  not  yet  come,  nor 
perhaps  will  not  for  some  months.  I  hear  he  is  at  Leghorn. 
General  Graham  has  been  dangerously  ill ;  but  I  am  told  he 
is  now  on  his  return.  We  have  at  present  the  most  extrava- 
gant weather  that  has  been  known  for  some  years ;  it  is  as 
cold  and  wet  as  an  English  November.  Thursday  next  is  the 
ceremony  of  the  Ascension  :  the  show  will  be  entirely  spoiled 
if  the  rain  continues,  to  the  serious  affliction  of  the  fine  ladies, 
who  all  make  new  clothes  on  that  occasion.  We  have  had 
lately  two  magnificent  weddings ;  Lord  Mandeville*  had  the 
pleasure  of  dancing  at  one  of  them.  I  appeared  at  neither, 
being  formal  balls,  where  no  masks  were  admitted,  and  all 
people  set  out  in  high  dress,  which  I  have  long  renounced,  as 
it  is  very  fit  I  should  ;  though  there  were  several  grandmothers 
there,  who  exhibited  their  jewels.  In  this  country  nobody 
grows  old  till  they  are  bed-ridden. 

I  wish  your  daughters  to  resemble  me  in  nothing  but  the 
love  of  reading,  knowing,  by  experience,  how  far  it  is  capable 

ant  materials  ;  Lord  Byron,  to  describe  the  indifference  and  cruelty  oi 
a  corsair. 

His  lines  are  these  : 

A  monkey,  a  Dutch  mastiff",  a  mackaw, 

Two  parrots,  with  a  Persian  cat  and  kittens, 
He  chose  from  several  animals  he  saw ; 

A  terrier,  too,  which  once  had  been  a  Briton's, 
Who,  dying  on  the  coast  of  Ithaca, 

The  peasants  gave  the  poor  dumb  thing  a  pittance , 
These  to  secure  in  this  strong  blowing  weather, 
He  caged  in  one  large  hamper  all  together. 
*  G-eorge  Viscount  Mandeville,  eldest  son  of  Robert  Duk    of  Man* 
Chester. 

14* 


322  LETTERS     TO 

of  softening  the  cruelest  accidents  of  life ;  even  the  happiest 
can  not  be  passed  over  without  many  uneasy  hours ;  and  there 
is  no  remedy  so  easy  as  books,  which,  if  they  do  not  give  cheer- 
fulness, at  least  restore  quiet  to  the  most  troubled  mind. 
Those  that  fly  to  cards  or  company  for  relief  generally  find 
they  only  exchange  one  misfortune  for  another. 

You  have  so  much  business  on  your  hands  I  will  not  take 
you  from  more  proper  employment  by  a  long  letter.  I  am, 
my  dear  child,  with  the  warmest  affection,  ever  your  tender 
mother. 


LETTER  XXXVLT. 

Padua,  July  17, 1*758. 
My  Dear  Child — I  received  yours  last  night,  which  gave 
me  a  pleasure  beyond  what  I  am  able  to  express  (this  is  not 
according  to  the  common  expression,  but  a  simple  truth).  I 
had  not  heard  from  you  for  some  months,  and  was  in  my 
heart  very  uneasy,  from  the  apprehension  of  some  misfortune 
in  your  family ;  though,  as  I  always  endeavor  to  avoid  the  an- 
ticipation of  evil,  which  is  a  source  of  pain,  and  can  never  be 
productive  of  any  good,  I  stifled  my  fear  as  much  as  possible, 
yet  it  cost  me  many  a  midnight  pang.  You  have  been  the 
passion  of  my  life  :  you  need  thank  me  for  nothing  ;  I  gratify 
myself  whenever  I  can  oblige  you.  I  have  already  given  into 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Anderson  a  long  letter  for  you,  but  it  is  now 
of  so  old  a  date  I  accompany  it  with  another.  His  journey 
has  been  delayed  by  a  very  extraordinary  accident,  which 
might  have  proved  as  fatal  as  that  of  Lord  Drumlanrigh,  or 
that,  which  I  think  worse,  which  happened  to  my  convert  Mr. 
Butler  ;  fortunately  it  has  only  served  to  set  the  characters  of 
both  the  governor  and  the  pupil  in  a  more  amiable  light.  Mr 
Archer  was  at  breakfast  with  six  other  English  gentlemen,  and 
handling  a  blunderbuss,  which  he  did  not  know  to  be  charged, 
it  burst,  and  distributed  among  them  six  chained  bullets,  be- 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  323 

Bides  the  splinters,  which  flew  about  in  the  manner  you  may 
imagine.  His  own  hand  was  considerably  wounded,  yet  the 
first  word  he  spoke  (without  any  regard  to  his  own  smart  or 
danger)  was,  "  I  hope  nobody  is  hurt :"  nobody  was  hurt  but 
himself,  who  has  been  ever  since  under  cure,  to  preserve  two  of 
his  fingers  which  were  very  much  torn.  He  had  also  a  small 
rasure  on  his  cheek,  which  is  now  quite  healed.  The  pater- 
nal care  and  tenderness  Mr.  Anderson  has  shown  on  this  occa- 
sion, has  recommended  him  to  every  body.  I  wanted  nothing 
to  raise  that  esteem  which  is  due  to  his  sterling  honesty  and 
good  heart,  which  I  do  not  doubt  you  value  as  much  as  I  do. 
If  that  wretch  Hickman  had  been — but  this  is  a  melancholy 
thought,  and  as  such  ought  to  be  suppressed. 

How  important  is  the  charge  of  youth  !  and  how  useless  all 
the  advantages  of  nature  and  fortune  without  a  well-turned 
mind !  I  have  lately  heard  of  a  very  shining  instance  of  this 
truth  from  two  gentlemen  (very  deserving  ones  they  seem  to 
be)  who  have  had  the  curiosity  to  travel  into  Muscovy,  and 
now  return  to  England  with  Mr.  Archer.  I  inquired  after  my 
old  acquaintance  Sir  Charles  Williams,  who  I  hear  is  much 
broken,  both  in  his  spirits  and  constitution.  How  happy 
might  that  man  have  been,  if  there  had  been  added  to  his 
natural  and  acquired  endowments  a  dash  of  morality  !  If  he 
had  known  how  to  distinguish  between  false  and  true  felicity ; 
and,  instead  of  seeking  to  increase  an  estate  already  too  large, 
and  hunting  after  pleasures  that  have  made  him  rotten  and 
ridiculous,  he  had  bounded  his  desires  of  wealth,  and  followed 
the  dictates  of  his  conscience.  His  servile  ambition  has  gained 
him  two  yards  of  red  ribbon,  and  an  exile  into  a  miserable 
country,  where  there  is  no  society  and  so  little  taste  that  I  be- 
lieve he  suffers  under  a  dearth  of  flatterers.  This  is  said  for 
the  use  of  your  growing  sons,  whom  I  hope  no  golden  tempta- 
tions will  induce  to  marry  women  they  can  not  love,  or  com- 
ply with  measures  they  do  not  approve.  All  the  happiness  this 
world  can  afford  is  more  within  reach  than  is  generally  sup- 
posed.   Whoever  seeks  pleasure  will  undoubtedly  find  pain ; 


324  LETTERS     TO 

whoever  will  pursue  ease  will  as  certainly  find  pleasures.  The 
world's  esteem  is  the  highest  gratification  of  human  vanity ; 
and  that  is  more  easily  obtained  in  a  moderate  fortune  than 
an  overgrown  one,  which  is  seldom  possessed,  never  gained, 
without  envy.  I  say  esteem ;  for,  as  to  applause  it  is  a  youth- 
ful pursuit,  never  to  be  forgiven  after  twenty,  and  naturally 
succeeds  the  childish  desire  of  catching  the  setting  sun,  which 
1  can  remember  running  very  hard  to  do :  a  fine  thing  truly 
if  it  could  be  caught ;  but  experience  soon  shows  it  to  be  im- 
possible. A  wise  and  honest  man  lives  to  his  own  heart,  with- 
out that  silly  splendor  that  makes  him  a  prey  to  knaves,  and 
which  commonlv  ends  in  his  becoming  one  of  the  fraternity. 
I  am  very  glad  to  hear  Lord  Bute's  decent  economy  sets  him 
above  any  thing  of  that  kind.  I  wish  it  may  become  national. 
A  collective  body  of  men  differs  very  little  from  a  single  man ; 
and  frugality  is  the  foundation  of  generosity.  I  have  often 
been  complimented  on  the  English  heroism,  who  have  thrown 
away  so  many  millions  without  any  prospect  of  advantage  to 
themselves,  purely  to  succor  a  distressed  princess.  I  never 
could  hear  these  praises  without  some  impatience ;  they 
sounded  to  me  like  the  panegyrics  made  by  the  dependents  on 
the  Duke  of  Newcastle  and  poor  Lord  Oxford,  bubbled  when 
they  were  commended,  and  laughed  at  when  they  were  undone. 
Some  late  events  will,  I  hope,  open  our  eyes  :  we  shall  see  we 
are  an  island,  and  endeavor  to  extend  our  commerce  rather 
than  the  Quixote  reputation  of  redressing  wrongs  and  placing 
diadems  on  heads  that  should  be  equally  indifferent  to  us. 
When  time  has  ripened  mankind  into  common  sense,  the 
name  of  conqueror  will  be  an  odious  title.  I  could  easily  prove 
that  had  the  Spaniards  established  a  trade  with  the  Americans, 
they  would  have  enriched  their  country  more  than  by  the  ad- 
dition of  twenty-two  kingdoms,  and  all  the  mines  they  now 
work — I  do  not  say  possess ;  since,  though  they  are  the  pro- 
prietors, others  enjoy  the  profit. 

My  letter   is   too   long;  I  beg   your   pardon   for  it;    'tis 
6eldom  I  have  an  opportunity  of  speaking   to  you,  and  T 


THE     COUNTESS     OF    BUTE.  325 

would  have  you  know  all  the  thoughts  of  your  most  affec- 
tionate mother. 


LETTER  XXXVIH. 


Padua,  July  14,  1758. 

My  Dear  Child — I  hope  this  will  fiDd  you  in  perfect  health. 
I  had  a  letter  from  your  father  last  post,  dated  from  Newbold, 
which  tells  me  a  very  agreeable  piece  of  news,  that  the  contests 
of  parties,  so  violent  formerly  (to  the  utter  destruction  of 
peace,  civility,  and  common  sense)  are  so  happily  terminated, 
that  there  is  nothing  of  that  sort  mentioned  in  good  company. 
I  think  I  ought  to  wish  you  and  my  grandchildren  joy  on  this 
general  pacification,  when  I  remember  all  the  vexation  I  have 
gone  through,  from  my  youth  upward,  on  the  account  of  those 
divisions,  which  touched  me  no  more  than  the  disputes  be- 
tween the  followers  of  Mohammed  and  Ali,  being  always  of 
opinion  that  politics  and  controversy  were  as  unbecoming  to 
our  sex  as  the  dress  of  a  prize-fighter ;  and  I  would  as  soon 
have  mounted  Fig's  theater  as  have  stewed  all  night  in  the 
gallery  of  a  committee,  as  some  ladies  of  bright  parts  have 
done. 

Notwithstanding  the  habitual  (I  believe  I  might  say  natural) 
indifference,  here  am  I  involved  in  adventures,  as  surprising  as 
any  related  in  Amadis  de  Gaul,  or  even  by  Mr.  Glanville.* 
I  can  assure  you  I  should  not  be  more  surprised  at  seeing  my- 
self riding  in  the  air  on  a  broomstick,  than  in  the  figure  of  a 
first  rate  politician.  You  will  stare  to  hear  that  your  nurse 
keeps  her  corner  (as  Lord  Bolingbroke  says  of  Miss  Oglethorp) 
in  this  illustrious  conspiracy.  I  really  think  the  best  head  of 
the  junto  is  an  English  washerwoman,  who  has  made  her 
fortune  with  all  parties,  by  her  compliance  in  changing  her 
religion,  which  gives  her  the  merit  of  a  new  convert ;  and  her 
charitable  disposition  of  keeping  a  house  of  fair  reception  for 

*  In  his  History  of  Witchcraft — Sadducismus  Triumphans,  1681. 


326  LETTERS    TO 

the  English  captains,  sailors,  etc.,  that  are  distressed  by  long 
sea  voyages  (as  Sir  Samson  Legend  remarks,  in  Love  for  Love), 
gains  her  friends  among  all  public  spirited  people :  the  scenes 
are  so  comic  they  deserve  the  pen  of  a  Richardson  to  do  them 
justice.  I  begin  to  be  persuaded  the  surest  way  of  preserving 
reputation,  and  having  powerful  protectors,  is  being  openly 
lewd  and  scandalous.  I  will  not  be  so  censorious  to  take  ex- 
amples from  my  own  sex ;  but  you  see  Doctor  Swift,  who  set 
at  defiance  all  decency,  truth,  or  reason,  had  a  crowd  of  ad- 
mirers, and  at  their  head  the  virtuous  and  ingenious  Earl  of 
Orrery,  the  polite  and  learned  Mr.  Greville,  with  a  number  of 
ladies  of  fine  taste  and  unblemished  characters ;  while  the 
Bishop  of  Salisbury  (Burnet  I  mean),  the  most  indulgent 
parent,  the  most  generous  churchman,  and  the  most  zealous 
asserter  of  the  rights  and  liberties  of  his  country,  was  all  his 
life  defamed  and  vilified,  and  after  his  death  most  barbarously 
calumniated,  for  having  had  the  courage  to  write  a  history 
without  flattery.  I  knew  him  in  my  very  early  youth,  and  his 
condescension,  in  directing  a  girl  in  her  studies,  is  an  obliga- 
tion I  can  never  forget. 


LETTER  XXXTX. 

Oct.  31,  1758. 
My  Dear  Child — I  received  yours  of  October  2d  this  day, 
the  31st  instant.  The  death  of  the  two  great  ladies  you  mention, 
I  believe  does  not  occasion  much  sorrow  ;  they  have  long  been 
burdens  (not  to  say  nuisances)  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  I  am 
sorry  for  Lord  Carlisle.*  He  was  my  friend  as  well  as  ac- 
quaintance, and  a  man  of  uncommon  probity  and  good  nature. 
I  think  he  has  shown  it  in  the  disposition  of  his  will  in  the 
favor  of  a  lady  he  had  no  reason  to  esteem.  It  is  certainly 
the  kindest  thing  he  could  do  for  her,  to  endeavor  to  save  her 
from  her  own  folly,  which  would  have  probably  precipitately 
*  He  died  September  4,  1758. 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  327 

hurried  her  into  a  second  marriage,  which  would  most  surely 
have  revenged  all  her  misdemeanors. 

I  was  well  acquainted  with  Mr.  Walpole,  at  Florence,  and 
indeed  he  was  particularly  civil  to  me.  I  am  encouraged  to 
isk  a  favor  of  him,  if  I  did  not  know  that  few  people  have 
so  good  memories  as  to  remember  so  many  years  backward 
us  have  passed  since  I  have  seen  him.  If  he  has  treated  ths 
character  of  Queen  Elizabeth  with  disrespect,  all  the  women 
should  tear  him  in  pieces,  for  abusing  the  glory  of  her  sex, 
Neither  is  it  just  to  put  her  in  the  list  of  authors,  having  never 
published  any  thing,  though  we  have  Mr.  Camden's  authority 
that  she  wrote  many  valuable  pieces,  chiefly  translations  from 
the  Greek.  I  wish  all  monarchs  would  bestow  their  leisure 
hours  on  such  studies :  perhaps  they  would  not  be  very  useful 
to  mankind  ;  but  it  may  be  asserted,  as  a  certain  truth,  that 
their  own  minds  would  be  more  improved  than  by  the  amuse- 
ments of  quadrille  or  cavagnole. 

I  desire  you  would  thank  your  father  for  the  china  jars ;  if 
they  arrive  safely,  they  will  do  me  great  honor  in  this  country. 
The  Patriarch  died  here  lately.  He  had  a  large  temporal  es- 
tate ;  and,  by  long  life  and  extreme  parsimony,  has  left  four 
hundred  thousand  sequins  in  his  coffers,  which  is  inherited  by 
two  nephews  ;  and  I  suppose  will  be  dissipated  as  scandalously 
as  it  was  accumulated.  The  town  is  full  of  faction,  for  the 
election  of  his  successor ;  and  the  ladies  are  always  very 
active  on  these  occasions.  I  have  observed  that  they  have 
ever  had  more  influence  in  republics  than  in  a  monarchy.  'Tis 
true  a  king  has  often  a  powerful  mistress,  but  she  is  governed 
by  some  male  favorite.  In  commonwealths,  votes  are  easily 
acquired  by  the  fair ;  and  she  who  has  most  beauty  or  art,  has 
a  great  away  in  the  senate.  I  run  on  troubling  you  with  stories 
very  iniignificant  to  you,  and  taking  up  your  time,  which  I  am 
very  certain  is  taken  up  in  matters  of  more  importance  than 
my  old  wives'  tales.  My  dear  child,  God  bless  you  and  yours. 
I  am,  with  the  warmest  sentiments  of  my  heart,  your  most  af- 
fectionate mother. 


328  LETTERS     TO 


LETTER  XL. 

I  am  very  glad,  my  dear  child,  to  hear  of  your  father's  health ; 
mine  is  better  than  I  ought  to  expect  at  my  time  of  life.  I  be- 
lieve Mr.  Anderson  talks  partially  of  me,  as  to  my  looks ;  I 
know  nothing  of  the  matter,  as  it  is  eleven  years  since  I  have 
seen  my  figure  in  the  glass,  and  the  last  reflection  I  saw  there 
was  so  disagreeable  that  I  resolved  to  spare  myself  such  mor- 
tifications for  the  future,  and  shall  continue  that  resolution  to 
my  life's  end.  To  indulge  all  pleasing  amusements,  and  avoid 
all  images  that  give  us  disgust,  is,  in  my  opinion  the  best 
method  to  attain  or  confirm  health.  I  ought  to  consider  yours, 
and  shorten  my  letters,  while  you  are  in  a  condition  that  makes 
reading  uneasy  to  you. 

God  bless  you  and  yours,  my  dear  child,  is  the  ardent  wish 
of  your  affectionate  mother. 


LETTER  XLI. 

June  22,  N.  8. 
My  Dear  Child — I  can  not  believe  Sir  John's*  advance- 
ment is  owing  to  his  merit,  though  he  certainly  deserves  such  a 
distinction  ;  but  I  am  persuaded  the  present  disposers  of  such 
dignities  are  neither  more  clear-sighted,  or  more  disinterested 

*  In  Mr.  Dallaway's  edition  this  and  the  preceding  letter  are  joined 
together,  and  make  one.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  this,  which  bears 
the  date  as  above,  should  not  have  been  inserted  in  an  earlier  part  of 
this  correspondence,  as  having  been  written  in  1752;  the  "Sir  John" 
mentioned  in  it  having  probably  been  Sir  John  Kawdon,  Bart.,  who  was 
created  an  Irish  Peer,  April  9th,  1750,  by  the  title  of  Baron  Rawdon  of 
Moira.  He  was  thrice  married — first,  in  1741,  to  Lady  Helena  Perci- 
val,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Egmont ;  secondly,  to  Ann,  daughter  of  Tre- 
vor Viscount  Hillsborough  ;  thirdly,  in  1752,  to  Lady  Elizabeth  Hastings, 
eldest  daughter  of  Theophilus,  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  26th  February,  1752. 
December  15th,  1761,  he  was  advanced  in  the  peerage  as  Earl  of  Moira, 
in  the  County  of  Down. 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  329 

than  their  predecessors.  Ever  since  I  knew  the  world,  Irish 
patents  have  been  hung  out  to  sale,  like  the  laced  and  em- 
broidered coats  in  Monmouth-street,  and  bought  up  by  the 
same  sort  of  people  ;  I  mean  those  who  had  rather  wear  shabby- 
finery  than  no  finery  at  all ;  though  I  don't  suppose  this  was 
Sir  John's  case.  That  good  creature  (as  the  country  saying 
is)  has  not  a  bit  of  pride  about  him.  I  dare  swear  he  pur- 
chased his  title  for  the  same  reason  he  used  to  purchase  pic- 
tures in  Italy ;  not  because  he  wanted  to  buy,  but  because 
somebody  or  other  wanted  to  sell.  He  hardly  ever  opened  his 
mouth  but  to  say  "  What  you  please,  sir  ;" — "  Your  humble 
servant ;"  or  some  gentle  expression  to  the  same  effect.  It  is 
scarce  credible  that  with  this  unlimited  complaisance  he  should 
draw  a  blow  upon  himself ;  yet  it  so  happened  that  one  of  his 
own  countrymen  was  brute  enough  to  strike  him.  As  it  was 
done  before  many  witnesses,  Lord  Mansel  heard  of  it ;  and 
thinking  that  if  poor  Sir  John  took  no  notice  of  it,  he  would 
suffer  daily  insults  of  the  same  kind,  out  of  pure  good  nature 
resolved  to  spirit  him  up,  at  least  to  some  show  of  resentment, 
intending  to  make  up  the  matter  afterward  in  as  honorable  a 
manner  as  he  could  for  the  poor  patient.  He  represented  to 
him  very  warmly  that  no  gentleman  could  take  a  box  on  the 
ear.  Sir  John  answered  with  great  calmness,  "  I  know  that, 
but  this  was  not  a  box  on  the  ear,  it  was  only  a  slap  o'  the 
face." 

I  was  as  well  acquainted  with  his  two  first  wives  as  the 
difference  of  our  ages  permitted.  I  fancy  they  have  broke  their 
hearts  by  being  chained  to  such  a  companion.  'Tis  really 
terrible,  for  a  well-bred,  virtuous  young  woman  to  be  confined 
to  the  conversation  of  the  object  of  her  contempt.  There  is 
but  one  thing  to  be  done  in  that  case,  which  is  a  method  I  am 
sure  you  have  observed  practiced  with  success  by  some  ladies  I 
need  not  name  :  they  associate  the  husband  and  the  lap-dog, 
and  manage  so  well,  that  they  make  exactly  the  same  figure  in 
the  family.  My  lord  and  Dell  tag  after  madam  to  all  indif- 
ferent places,  and  stay  at  home  together,  whenever  she  goes 


330  LETTERS     TO 

into  company  where  they  would  be  troublesome.  I  can  as- 
sure you  I  equally  contemn  a  woman  who  can  forget  she  was 
born  a  gentlewoman,  for  the  sake  of  money  she  did  not  want. 
That  is  indeed  the  only  sentiment  that  deserves  the  name  of 
avarice.  A  prudential  care  of  our  affairs,  or  (to  go  further)  a 
desire  of  being  in  circumstances  to  be  useful  to  our  friends,  is 
not  only  excusable  but  highly  laudable  ;  never  blamed  but  by 
those  who  would  persuade  others  to  throw  away  their  money, 
in  hopes  to  pick  up  a  share  of  it.  The  greatest  declaimers  for 
disinterestedness  I  ever  knew,  have  been  capable  of  the  vilest 
actions  ;  and  the  greatest  instances  of  true  generosity,  given 
by  those  who  were  regular  in  their  expenses,  and  superior  to 
the  vanity  of  fashion. 

I  believe  you  are  heartily  tired  of  my  dull  moralities.  I  con- 
fess I  am  in  very  low  spirits ;  it  is  hotter  weather  than  has 
been  known  for  some  years,  and  I  have  got  an  abominable  cold, 
which  has  drawn  after  it  a  troop  of  complaints  I  will  not  trouble 
you  with  reciting.  I  hope  all  your  family  are  in  good  health, 
I  am  humble  servant  to  Lord  Bute,  I  give  mv  blessino-  to  vour 
children,  and  am  ever  your  most  affectionate  mother. 


LETTER  XIII. 

Genoa.  Dec..  8,  1759. 

My  Dear  Child — I  received  yours  of  October  24  yester- 
day, which  gave  me  great  pleasure,  by  the  account  of  the 
good  health  of  you  and  yours ;  I  need  not  say  how  near  that 
is  to  my  heart.  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  an  entertaining  let- 
ter from  your  father,  out  of  Germany,  by  which  I  find  he 
has  had  both  benefit  and  amusement  from  his  travels.  I 
hope  he  is  now  with  you. 

I  find  you  have  many  wrong  notions  of  Italy,  which  I  do 
not  wonder  at.  You  can  take  your  ideas  of  it  only  from  books 
or  travelers.  The  first  are  generally  antiquated  or  confined 
to  trite  observations,  and  the  other  yet  more  superficial  ■  they 


THE    COUNTESS     OP    BUTE.  §31 

return  no  more  instructed  than  they  might  have  been  at  home, 
by  the  help  of  a  map.  The  boys  only  remember  where  they 
met  with  the  best  wine  or  the  prettiest  women  ;  and  the  gov- 
ernors (I  speak  of  the  most  learned  among  them)  have  only 
remarked  situations  and  distances,  or,  at  most,  statues  and 
edifices,  as  every  girl  that  can  read  a  French  novel,  and  boy 
that  can  construe  a  scene  in  Terence,  fancies  they  have  at- 
tained to  the  French  and  Latin  languages,  when,  God  knows, 
it  requires  the  study  of  a  whole  life  to  acquire  a  perfect 
knowledge  of  either  of  them  :  so,  after  a  tour  (as  they  call 
it)  of  three  years,  round  Europe,  people  think  themselves  qual- 
ified to  give  exact  accounts  of  the  customs,  politics,  and  inter- 
est of  the  dominions  they  have  gone  through  post ;  when  a 
very  long  stay,  a  diligent  inquiry,  and  a  nice  observation,  are 
requisite  even  to  a  moderate  degree  of  knowing  a  foreign 
country,  especially  here,  where  they  are  naturally  very  re- 
served. France,  indeed,  is  more  easily  seen  through  ;  the 
French  always  talking  of  themselves,  and  the  government 
being  the  same,  there  is  little  difference  from  one  province  to 
another ;  but,  in  Italy,  the  different  laws  make  different  cus- 
toms and  manners.  There  are  many  things  very  particular 
here,  from  the  singularity  of  the  government ;  some  of  which 
I  do  not  care  to  touch  upon,  and  some  are  still  in  use  here, 
though  obsolete  in  almost  all  other  places,  as  the  estates  of 
all  the  great  families  being  unalienable,  as  they  were  formerly 
in  England.  This  would  have  made  them  very  potent  if  it 
were  not  balanced  by  another  law,  that  divides  whatever  land 
the  father  dies  possessed  of  among  all  the  sons,  the  eldest 
having  no  advantage  but  the  finest  house  and  best  furniture, 
which  occasions  numerous  branches  and  few  large  fortunes, 
with  a  train  of  consequences  you  may  imagine.  But  I  can 
not  let  pass  in  silence  the  prodigious  alteration,  since  Misson's 
writing,  in  regard  to  our  sex.  This  reformation  (or,  if  you 
please,  depravation)  begun  so  lately  as  the  year  1732,  when 
the  French  overrun  this  part  of  Italy ;  but  it  has  been  car- 
ried on  with  such  fervor  and  success  that  the  Italians  go  far 


832  LETTERS    TO 

beyond  their  patterns,  the  Parisian  ladies,  in  the  extent  of 
their  liberty.  I  am  not  so  much  surprised  at  the  women's 
conduct  as  I  am  amazed  at  the  change  in  the  men's  senti- 
ments. Jealousy,  which  was  once  a  point  of  honor  among 
them,  is  exploded  to  that  degree  that  it  is  become  the  most 
infamous  and  ridiculous  of  all  characters ;  and  you  can  not 
more  affront  a  gentlemen  than  to  suppose  him  capable  of  it. 
Divorces  are  also  introduced,  and  frequent  enough  ;  they  have 
long  been  in  fashion  in  Genoa,  several  of  the  finest  and 
greatest  ladies  there  having  two  husbands  alive. 

I  am  afraid  you  will  think  this  a  long  letter ;  but  you 
tell  me  that  you  are  without  company,  and  in  solitude,  though 
yours  appears  to  me  to  be  a  sort  of  paradise.  You  have  an 
agreeable  habitation,  a  pleasant  garden,  a  man  you  love  and 
who  loves  you,  and  are  surrounded  with  a  numerous  and 
hopeful  progeny.  May  they  all  prove  comforts  to  your  age ! 
That,  and  all  other  blessings,  are  daily  wished  for  you  by,  my 
dear  child,  your  affectionate  mother. 


LETTER  XLDL 

Venice,  March  18,  1760. 
My  Dear  Child — I  am  afraid  some  letters,  both  of  yours 
and  mine  are  lost,  nor  am  I  much  surprised  at  it,  seeing  the 
managements  here.  In  this  world  much  must  be  suffered, 
and  we  ought  all  to  follow  the  rule  of  Epictetus :  "  Bear  and 
forbear."  General  Wolfe*  is  to  be  lamented,  but  not  pitied. 
I  am  of  your  opinion,  that  compassion  is  only  owing  to  his 
mother  and  intended  bride,  who  I  think  the  greater  sufferer 
(however  sensible  I  am  of  a  parent's  tenderness).  Disap- 
pointments in  youth  are  those  which  are  felt  with  the  great- 
est anguish,  when  we  are  all  in  expectation  of  happiness,  per- 
haps not  to  be  found  in  this  life.     I  am  very  much  diverted 

*  General  "Wolfe  was  killed  at  the  siege  of  Quebec,  September  ]  6, 
1759. 


THE     COUNTESS     OF     BUTE.  333 

with  the  adventures  of  the  three  graces  who  are  coming  to 
London,  and  am  heartily  sorry  their  mother  has  not  learning 
enough  to  write  memoirs.  She  might  make  the  fortur  g  of 
half  a  dozen  Dodsleys.  The  youngest  girl  (called  here  Bet- 
Una)  is  taller  than  the  Duchess  of  Montagu,  and  as  red  and 
white  as  any  German  alive.  If  she  has  sense  enough  to  fol- 
low good  instructions,  she  will  be  irresistible,  and  may  pro- 
duce very  glorious  novelties.  Our  great  minister  has  her 
picture  in  his  collection — basta  ! 

My  health  is  better  than  I  can  reasonably  expect  at  my 
age,  but  my  life  is  so  near  a  conclusion  that  where  or  how  I 
pass  it  (if  innocently)  is  almost  become  indifferent  to  me.  I 
have  outlived  the  greatest  part  of  my  acquaintance  ;  and,  to 
say  the  truth,  a  return  to  crowd  and  bustle,  after  my  long  re- 
tirement, would  be  disagreeable  to  me.  Yet,  if  I  could  be 
of  use  either  to  your  father  or  your  family,  I  would  venture 
the  shortening  the  insignificant  days  of  your  affectionate 
mother. 


LETTERS    TO 

SIR  JAMES  AND  IADY  FRANCES  STEUART.* 


LETTER  I. 

May,  1758. 
I  am  in  great  pain  both  for  your  health  and  situation, 
and  wish  you  would  permit  rue  to  be  of  any  service  to  you. 
I  know  what  it  is  to  be  without  servants  in  a  strange  coun- 
try, and  how  far  people  are  imposed  on  that  bear  the  name  of 
English,  and  heretics  into  the  bargain  ;  the  folly  of  British 
boys,  and  stupidity  or  knavery  of  governors,  have  gained  us 
the  glorious  title  of  Golden  Asses,  all  over  Italy.  I  never 
was  in  the  Padua  locanda,  but  except  they  are  more  virtuous 
that  any  I  ever  met  with,  you  will  be  very  ill-served  and  ve;y 
well  robbed.  Here  is  a  fellow  recommended  to  me  by  Baron 
Talmua,  who  says  he  will  answer  for  his  honesty  and  capacity  ; 

*  The  following  was  written  by  Lady  Frances  Steuart  upon  the  par- 
cel containing  these  letters : 

"Letters  from  Lady  Mary  W.  Montagu,  which  are  decisive  of  the 
short  acquaintance  necessary  to  the  adhesion  which  generally  takes 
place  when  superior  minds  are  brought  together.  Lady  M.  W.  Mon- 
tagu was  blessed  with  such  a  mind  as  led  her  to  make  a  short  (very 
short)  acquaintance  with  my  dear  Sir  James  become  to  her  a  time 
of  noted  value.  They  reciprocally  improved  it,  and  neither  of  them 
ever  lost  the  recollections  which  were  so  gratifying  to  both. 

u  Nor  can  I  ever  forget  the  thankful  sensibility  of  the  time,  which 
appeared  to  me  so  fortunate,  so  fit,  and  so  apropos  to  enliven  (and  very 
highly)  his  elevated  but  dejected  spirit — feeble  and  dejected  by  a  se- 
vere illness." 


SIR     JAMES      AND      LADY      STEUART.  M35 

he  can  serve  as  cook,  valet-de-chambre,  purveyor,  and  steward. 
He  speaks  no  German,  but  is  very  willing  to  follow  you,  and 
presumes  he  shall  soon  learn  it.  I  think  recommending  serv- 
ants almost  as  dangerous  as  making  matches  (which,  I  thank 
the  Lord,  I  never  engaged  in)  :  nothing  could  oblige  me  to 
venture  on  it  but  your  distress,  and  the  good  opinion  I  have 
of  the  probity  of  Baron  Talmua,  who  is  a  German  man  of 
quality  I  have  known  some  time,  and  am  obliged  to.  He 
has  earnestly  pressed  me  to  make  you  this  offer,  on  hearing 
me  lament  the  seduction  of  your  woman. 

This  minute  I  am  shown  a  letter  of  my  Gastaldi  (in  French, 
Concierge  ;  I  know  no  proper  title  for  him  in  English).  I  can 
assure  you,  sir  and  madam,  his  stile  grossier  gave  me  more 
pleasure  than  ever  I  received  from  the  points  of  Voiture  or 
the  puns  of  Swift  or  Pope,  since  my  secretary  assured  me  that 
it  contained  an  account  of  your  well-being,  and  having  hon- 
ored my  mansion  with  your  presence  ;  he  brags  of  having 
done  his  duty  in  waiting  on  the  two  milordi ;  and  that  you 
found  the  palazzo  very  clean ;  and  he  hopes  you  took  nothing 
ill,  though  you  refused  the  portantina.  In  this  manner  were 
his  hieroglyphics  explained  to  me,  which  I  am  forced  and 
pleased  to  give  faith  to,  as  I  do  to  the  translators  of  Hebrew, 
though  I  can  make  nothing  of  the  figures  myself.  I  have 
read  over  your  book,  Sir  James,  and  have  a  great  deal  to  say 
about  it,  though  nothing  to  object ;  but  must  refer  to  another 
time,  having  literally  six  people  in  the  room,  according  to 
their  laudable  custom,  talking  all  at  once,  I  hardly  know  what 
I  say,  but  I  know  what  I  think ;  that  I  will  get  to  Padua  as 
fast  as  I  can,  to  enjoy  the  best  company  I  ever  knew. 


LETTER  H. 

This  letter  will  be  solely  to  you,  and  I  desire  you*  will  not 
communicate  it  to  Lady  Fanny  ;  she  is  the  best  woman  in  the 
*  This  is  clearly  said  in  joke. 


336  LETTERS     TO 

world,  and  I  would  by  no  means  make  her  uneasy ;  but  there 
will  be  such  strange  things  in  it  that  the  Talmud  or  the  reve- 
lations are  not  half  so  mysterious ;  what  these  prodigies  por- 
tend, God  knows  ;  but  I  never  should  have  suspected  half  the 
wonders  I  see  before  my  eyes,  and  am  convinced  of  the  neces- 
sity of  the  repeal  of  the  witch  act  (as  it  is  commonly  called), 
I  mean,  to  speak  correctly,  the  tacit  permission  given  to 
witches,  so  scandalous  to  all  good  Christians  :  though  I  trem- 
ble to  think  of  it  for  my  own  interests.  It  is  certain  the 
British  islands  have  always  been  strangely  addicted  to  this  dia- 
bolical intercourse,  of  which  I  dare  swear  you  know  many  in- 
stances ;  but  since  this  public  encouragement  given  to  it,  I  am 
afraid  there  will  not  be  an  old  woman  in  the  nation  entirely 
free  from  suspicion.  The  devil  rages  more  powerfully  than 
ever :  you  will  believe  me  when  I  assure  you  the  great  and 
learned  English  minister  is  turned  Methodist,  several  duels 
have  been  fought  in  the  Place  of  St.  Marc  for  the  charms  of 
his  excellent  lady,  and  I  have  been  seen  flying  in  the  air  in  the 
figure  of  Julian  Cox,*  whose  history  is  related  with  so  much 
candor  and  truth  by  the  pious  pen  of  Joseph  Glanville,  chap- 
lain to  King  Charles.  I  know  you  young  rakes  make  a  jest 
of  all  those  things,  but  I  think  no  good  lady  can  doubt  of  a 
relation  so  well  attested.  She  was  about  seventy  years  old 
(very  near  my  age),  and  the  whole  sworn  to  before  Judge 
Archer,  1663  :  very  well  worth  reading,  but  rather  too  long 
for  a  letter.  You  know  (wretch  that  I  am)  'tis  one  of  my 
wicked  maxims  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain ;  and  I 
have  said  publicly  that  every  period  of  life  has  its  privileges, 
and  that  even  the  most  despicable  creatures  alive  may  find 
some  pleasures.  Now  observe  this  comment ;  who  are  the  most 
despicable  creatures  ?  Certainly,  old  women.  What  pleasure 
can  old  woman  take  ?     Only  witchcraft.     I  think  this  argu- 

*  In  one  of  her  letters  to  Lady  Bute  she  dwells  on  the  same  idea. 
All  this  must  allude  in  some  way  to  her  quarrel  with  Mr.  Murray, 
the  Resident  and  to  the  reports  which  she  accused  him  of  spreading 
concerning  her. 


SIE    JAMES     AND     LADY    STEUART.  SC  * 

ment  as  clear  as  any  of  the  devout  Bishop  of  Cloyne's  meta- 
physics ;  this  being  decided  in  a  full  congregation  of  saints, 
only  such  atheists  as  you  and  Lady  Fanny  can  deny  it.  I  own 
all  the  facts,  as  many  witches  have  done  before  me, .and  go 
every  night  in  a  public  manner  astride  upon  a  black  cat  to  a 
meeting  where  you  are  suspected  to  appear  :  this  last  article 
is  not  sworn  to,  it  being  doubtful  in  what  manner  our  clandes- 
tine midnight  correspondence  is  carried  on.  Some  think  it 
treasonable,  others  lewd  (don't  tell  Lady  Fanny)  ;  but  all  agree 
there  was  something  very  odd  and  unaccountable  in  such  sud- 
den likings.  I  confess,  as  I  said  before,  it  is  witchcraft.  You 
won't  wonder  I  do  not  sign  (notwithstanding  all  my  impu- 
dence) such  dangerous  truths  :  who  knows  the  consequence  ? 
The  devil  is  said  to  desert  his  votaries. 

Nota  bene.     You  have  dispossessed  me  of  the  real  devils 
who  haunted  me.     I  mean  the  nine  Muses  * 


LETTER  in. 

Padua,  September  1,  1758. 
My  Dear  Lady  Fanny — I  have  been  some  time  in  pain 
for  your  silence,  and  at  last  begun  to  fear  that  either  some 
accident  had  befallen  you,  or  you  had  been  so  surfeited  with 
my  dullness  at  Padua  you  resolved  not  to  be  plagued  with  it 
when  at  a  distance.  These  melancholy  ideas  growing  strong 
upon  me,  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Duff  to  inquire  after  your  health.  I 
have  received  his  answer  this  morning ;  he  tells  me  you  are 
both  well  and  safely  arrived  at  Tubingen  ;  and  I  take  the  lib- 
erty to  put  you  in  mind  of  one  that  can  never  forget  you  and 

*  It  seems  almost  needless  to  observe  that  this  letter  is  writen  in  a 
spirit  of  jesting,  or,  to  use  a  lower  word,  of  fun.  Antonio,  or  Signor 
Antonio  Mocenigo,  being  mentioned  elsewhere  as  eighty -six  years  of 
age,  and  the  head  of  a  great  Venetian  family,  we  may  conclude  thai 
what  is  said  of  the  two  other  persons  named  was  as  lud:crously  im- 
possible as  his  singing  at  the  opera. 

15 


338  LETTERS     TO 

the  cheerful  hours  we  have  passed  together.  The  weather 
favored  you  according  to  your  prayers ;  since  that  time  we 
have  had  storms,  tempests,  pestilential  blasts,  and  at  this  mo- 
ment such  suffocating  heat,  the  doctor  is  sick  in  bed,  and  no- 
body in  health  in  my  family,  excepting  myself  and  my  Swiss 
servants,  who  support  our  constitutions  by  hearty  eating  and 
drinking,  while  the  poor  Italians  are  languishing  on  their  sal- 
ads and  lemonade.  I  confess  I  am  in  high  spirits,  having  suc- 
ceeded in  my  endeavor  to  get  a  promise  of  assisting  some 
very  worthy  people  whom  I  am  fond  of.  You  know  I  am 
enthusiastic  in  my  friendships.  I  also  hear  from  all  hands 
of  my  daughter's  prosperity  ;  you,  madam,  that  are  a  mother, 
may  judge  of  my  pleasure  in  her  happiness :  though  I  have  no 
taste  for  that  sort  of  felicity.  I  could  never  endure  with  toler- 
able patience  the  austerities  of  a  court  life.  I  was  saying 
every  day  from  my  heart  (while  I  was  condemned  to  it),  "  the 
things  that  I  would  do,  those  [  do  not,  and  the  things  I  would 
uot  do,  those  do  I  daily,"  and  I  had  rather  be  a  sister  of  St. 
Clara  than  lady  of  the  bedchamber  to  any  queen  in  Europe. 
It  is  not  age  and  disappointment  that  has  given  me  these  sen- 
timents ;  you  may  see  them  in  a  copy  of  verses  sent  from 
Constantinople  in  my  early  youth  to  my  uncle  Fielding,*  and 
by  his  (well-intended)  indiscretion  shown  about,  copies  taken, 
and  at  length  miserably  printed.  I  own  myself  such  a  rake 
I  prefer  liberty  to  chains  of  diamonds,  and  when  I  hold  my 
peace  (like  King  David)  it  is  pain  and  grief  to  me. 

No  fraud  the  poet's  sacred  breast  can  bear, 
Mild  are  our  manners  and  our  hearts  sincere. 
Rude  and  unpolished  in  the  courtier's  school, 
I  loathe  a  knave  and  tremble  at  a  fooL 

With  this  rusticity  of  manners  I  do  not  wonder  to  see  my 
company  avoided  by  all  great  men  and  fine  ladies.  I  could 
tell  your  ladyship  such  a  history  of  my  calamities  since  we 
parted,  you  will  be  surprised  to  hear  I  have  not  despaired  and 

*  Tide  p.  171. 


SIR    JAMES     AND    LADY     STEUART.  330 

died  like  the  sick  lion  in  ^Esop's  fables,  who  so  pathetically 
cries  out — Bis  videor  mori,  when  he  was  kicked  by  a  certain 
animal  I  will  not  name  because  it  is  very  like  a  paw  word. 
Vale! 


LETTER  IV. 

Tubingen,  Sep.  5,  1758. 

This  day,  September  5,  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  a  most 
agreeable  and  obliging  mark  of  your  remembrance :  but  as  it 
has  no  date,  I  neither  know  when  nor  from  whence  it  was 
written. 

I  am  extremely  sorry  for  dear  Lady  Fanny's  disorder.  I  could 
repeat  to  her  many  wise  sayings  of  ancients  and  moderns, 
which  would  be  of  as  much  service  to  her  as  a  present  of  em- 
broidered slippers  to  you  when  you  have  a  fit  of  the  gout.  I 
have  seen  so  much  of  hysterical  complaints,  though  heaven  be 
praised  I  never  felt  them,  I  know  it  is  an  obstinate  and  very 
uneasy  distemper,  though  never  fatal,  unless  when  quacks  un- 
dertake to  cure  it.  I  have  even  observed  that  those  who  are 
troubled  with  it  commonly  live  to  old  age.  Lady  Stair*  is 
one  instance ;  I  remember  her  screaming  and  crying  when 
Miss  Primrose,  myself,  and  other  girls  were  dancing  two  room? 
distant.  Lady  Fanny  has  but  a  slight  touch  of  this  distemper : 
read  Dr.  Sydenham,  you  will  find  the  analyses  of  that  and 
many  other  diseases,  with  a  candor  I  never  found  in  any  othei 
author.  I  confess  I  never  had  faith  in  any  other  physician, 
living  or  dead.  Mr.  Locke  places  him  in  the  same  rank  with 
Sir  Isaac  Newton,  and  the  Italians  call  him  the  English  Hippo- 
crates. I  own  I  am  charmed  with  his  taking  off  the  reproach 
which  you  men  so  saucily  throw  on  our  sex,  as  if  we  alone 

*  The  Lady  Stair  here  alluded  to,  was  probably  the  wife  of  the  third 
Earl  of  Stair,  eldest  daughter  of  Sir  Andrew  Myrton,  of  Gogar,  in  the 
county  of  Edinburg,  Baronet.  She  died  at  Edinburg,  July  8th,  1761, 
at  sixty-two. 


340  LETTERS    TO 

were  subject  to  vapors :  he  clearly  proves  that  your  wise,  hon- 
orable spleen  is  the  same  disorder,  and  arises  from  the  same 
cause ;  but  you  vile  usurpers  do  not  only  engross  learning, 
power,  and  authority  to  yourselves,  but  will  be  our  superiors 
even  in  constitution  of  mind,  and  fancy  you  are  incapable  of 
the  woman's  weakness  of  fear  and  tenderness.  Ignorance  !  I 
could  produce  such  examples — 

Show  me  that  man  of  wit  in  all  your  roll, 
Whom  some  one  woman  has  not  made  a  fool. 

I  beg  your  pardon  for  these  verses,  but  I  have  a  right  to 
scribble  all  that  comes  at  my  pen's  end,  being  in  high  spirits 
on  an  occasion  more  interesting  to  me  than  the  election  of 
popes  or  emperors.  His  present  Holiness*  is  not  so  much  my 
acquaintance,  but  his  family  have  been  so  since  my  first  ar- 
rival at  Venice,  1740.  His  father  died  only  last  winter,  and 
was  a  very  agreeable  worthy  man,  killed  by  a  doctor;  his 
mother  rather  suffered  life  than  enjoyed  it  after  the  death  of 
her  husband,  and  was  little  sensible  of  the  advancement  of 
her  son,  though  I  believe  it  made  a  greater  impression  on  her 
than  appeared,  and  it  may  be,  hastened  her  death ;  which  hap- 
pened a  fortnight  after  his  elevation,  in  the  midst  of  the  ex- 
traordinary rejoicings  at  Venice  on  that  occasion.  The  honors 
bestowed  on  his  brother,  the  balls,  festivals,  etc.,  are  they  not 
written  in  the  daily  books  called  newspapers  ? 

I  resisted  all  invitations,  and  am  still  at  Padua,  where  read- 
ing, writing,  riding,  and  walking  find  me  full  employment. 

I  accept  the  compliment  of  the  fine  young  gentleman  with 
the  joy  of  an  old  woman  who  does  not  expect  to  be  taken 
notice  of :  pray  don't  tell  him  I  am  an  old  woman.  He  shall 
be  my  toast  from  this  forward,  and  (provided  he  never  sees  me 
as  long  as  he  lives)  I  may  be  his.  A  propos  of  toasting,  upon 
my  honor  I  have  not  tasted  a  drop  of  punch  since  we  parted  * 
I  can  not  bear  the  sight  of  it ;  it  would  recall  too  tender  ideas, 

*  Cardinal  Charles  Rezzonia,  Bishop  of  Padua,  became  Pope  Cle- 
ment XIII,  16th  July,  1758,  and  died  in  1*769. 


341 

and  I  should  be  quarreling  with  fortune  lor  our  separation, 
when  I  ought  to  thank  her  diving  for  having  brought  us  to- 
gether. I  could  tell  a  long  story  of  princes  and  potentates, 
but  I  am  so  little  versed  in  state  afFaiis  I  will  not  so  much  as 
answer  your  ensnaring  question  concerning  the  Jesuits,  which 
is  meddling  at  once  with  Church  and  State. 

This  letter  is  of  a  horrible  length,  and  what  is  worse  (if  any 
worse  can  be)  such  a  rhapsody  of  nonsense  as  may  kill  poor 
Lady  Fanny,  now  she  is  low-spirited,  though  I  am  persuaded 
she  has  good  nature  enough  to  be  glad  to  hear  I  am  happy ; 
which  I  could  not  be  if  I  had  not  a  view  of  seeing  my  friends 
so.  As  to  you,  sir,  I  make  no  excuses  ;  you  are  bound  to  have 
indulgence  for  me,  as  for  a  sister  of  the  quill.  I  have  heard 
Mr.  Addison  say  he  always  listened  to  poets  with  patience,  to 
keep  up  the  dignity  of  the  fraternity.  Let  me  have  an  answer 
as  soon  as  possible.     Si  vales,  bene  est,  valeo. 

P.  S.  Do  not  be  offended  at  the  word  poet,  it  slipped  out 
unawares.  I  know  you  scorn  it,  though  it  has  been  dignified 
by  Lord  Somers,  Lord  Godolphin,  and  Dr.  Atterbury. 


LETTER  V. 

"Venice,  May  4,  IT 57. 
Here  is  a  fashion  sprung  up  entirely  new  in  this  part  of  the 
world  ;  I  mean  suicide  :  a  rich  parish  priest  and  a  young  Ce- 
lestine  monk  have  disposed  of  themselves  last  week  in  that 
manner  without  any  visible  reason  for  their  precipitation.  The 
priest,  indeed,  left  a  paper  in  his  hat  to  signify  his  desire  of 
imitating  the  indifference  of  Socrates  and  magnanimity  of  Cato : 
the  friar  swung  out  of  the  world  without  giving  any  account 
of  his  design.  You  see  it  is  not  in  Britain  alone  that  the  spleen 
spreads  his  dominion.  I  look  on  all  excursions  of  this  kind  to 
be  owing  to  this  distemper,  which  shows  the  necessity  of  seek- 
ing employment  for  the  mind,  and  exercise  for  the  body ;  the 
spirits  and  the  blood  stagnate  without  motion. 


342  LETTERS     TO 

You  are  to  be  envied  whose  studies  are  not  only  useful  to 
yourself  but  beneficial  to  mankind  :  even  mine  (good  for  noth- 
ing as  they  are)  contribute  to  my  health,  and  serve  at  least  to 
lull  asleep  those  corroding  reflections  that  embitter  life,  and 
wear  out  the  frail  machine  in  which  we  inhabit. 


LETTER  VL 

Padua,  July  19,  1759. 

Your  letters  always  give  me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  but 
particularly  this,  which  has  relieved  me  from  the  pain  I  was  in 
from  your  silence. 

I  have  seen  the  Margrave  of  Baden  Dourlach  ;  but  I  hope  he 
has  forgot  he  has  ever  seen  me,  being  at  that  time  in  a  very 
odd  situation,  of  which  I  will  not  give  you  the  history  at  pres- 
ent, being  a  long  story,  and  you  know  life  is  too  short  for  a 
long  story. 

I  am  extremely  obliged  for  the  valuable  present  you  intend 
me.  I  believe  you  criticise  yourself  too  severely  on  your  style : 
I  do  not  think  that  very  smooth  harmony  is  necessary  in  a  work 
which  has  a  merit  of  a  nobler  kind  ;  I  think  it  rather  a  defect, 
as  when  a  Roman  emperor  (as  we  see  him  sometimes  repre- 
sented on  a  French  stage)  is  dressed  like  a  petit-maitre.  I  con- 
fess the  crowd  of  readers  look  no  further  ;  the  tittle-tattle  of 
Madame  de  Sevigne,  and  the  clinquant  of  Telemachus,  have 
found  admirers  from  that  very  reason.  Whatever  is  clearly  ex- 
pressed, is  well  wrote  in  a  book  of  reasoning.  However,  I  shall 
obey  your  commands  in  telling  you  my  opinion  with  the  great- 
est sincerity. 

I  am  extremely  glad  to  hear  that  Lady  F.  has  overcome  her 
disorder  :  I  wish  I  had  no  apprehensions  of  falling  into  it.  Sol- 
itude begets  whimsies  ;  at  my  time  of  life  one  usually  falls  into 
those  that  are  melancholy,  though  I  endeavor  to  keep,  up  a 
certain  sprightly  folly  that  (I  thank  God)  I  was  born  with  : 
but  alas !  what  can  we  do  with  all  our  endeavors !     I  am 


SIR    JAMES     AND     LADY     STEUART.  343 

afraid  we  are  little  better  than  straws  upon  the  water ;  we  may 
flatter  ourselves  that  we  swim  when  the  current  carries  us 
along. 

Thus  far  I  have  dictated  for  the  first  time  of  my  life,  and 
perhaps  it  will  be  the  last,  for  my  amanuensis  is  not  to  be  hired, 
and  I  despair  of  ever  meeting  with  another.  He  is  the  first 
that  could  write  as  fast  as  I  talk,  and  yet  you  see  there  are  so 
in  ny  mistakes,  it  wants  a  comment  longer  than  my  letter  to 
explain  my  insignificant  meaning,  and  I  have  fatigued  my  poor 
eyes  more  with  correcting  it  than  I  should  have  done  in  scrib- 
bling two  sheets  of  paper.  You  will  think  perhaps,  from  this 
idle  attempt,  that  I  have  some  fluxion  on  my  sight;  no  such 
matter ;  I  have  suffered  myself  to  be  persuaced  by  such  sort 
of  arguments  as  those  by  which  people  are  induced  to  strict 
abstinence,  or  to  take  physic.  Fear,  paltry  fear,  foundel  on 
vapors  rising  from  the  heat,  which  is  now  excessive,  and  has 
so  far  debilitated  my  miserable  nerves  that  I  submit  to  a  pre- 
sent displeasure,  by  way  of  precaution  against  a  future  evil, 
that  possibly  may  never  happen.  I  have  this  to  say  in  my  ex- 
cuse, that  the  evil  is  of  so  horrid  a  nature  I  own  I  feel  no  phi- 
losophy that  could  support  me  under  it,  and  no  mountain  girl 
ever  trembled  more  at  one  of  Whitefield's  pathetic  lectures  than 
I  do  at  the  word  blindness,  though  I  know  all  the  fine  things 
that  may  be  said  for  consolation  in  such  a  case:  but  I  know 
also  they  would  not  operate  on  my  constitution.  "  Why,"  (say 
my  wise  monitors)  "  will  you  persist  in  reading  or  writing  seven 
Hours  in  a  day  ?"  "  I  am  happy  while  I  read  and  write." 
"Indeed  one  would  sutler  a  great  deal  to  be  happy,"  say  the 
men,  sneering ;  and  the  ladies  wink  at  each  other,  and  hold  up 
their  fans.  A  fine  lady  of  threescore  had  the  goodness  to  add, 
"  At  least,  madam,  you  should  use  spectacles,  I  have  used  them 
myself  these  twenty  years :  I  was  advised  to  it  by  a  famous 
oculist  when  I  was  fifteen.  I  am  really  of  opinion  that  they 
have  preserved  my  sight,  notwithstanding  the  passion  I  always 
had  both  for  reading  and  drawing."  This  good  woman,  you 
must  know,  is  half  blind,  and  never  read  a  larger  volume  than 


344  LETTERS     TO 

a  newspaper.  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  the  whole  conversa- 
tion, though  it  would  make  an  excellent  scene  in  a  farce ;  but 
after  they  had  in  the  best  bred  way  in  the  world  convinced  me 
that  they  thought  I  lied  when  I  talked  of  reading  without 
glasses,  the  foresaid  matron  obligingly  said  she  should  be  very 
proud  to  see  the  writing  I  talked  of,  having  heard  me  say  foim- 
erly  I  had  no  correspondents  but  my  daughter  and  Mr.  W.* 
She  was  interrupted  by  her  sister,  who  said,  simpering,  "  You 
forgot  Sir  J.  S."  I  took  her  up  something  short,  I  confess, 
and  said  in  a  dry  stern  tone,  "  Madam,  I  do  write  to  Sir  J.  S. 
and  will  do  it  as  long  as  he  will  permit  that  honor."  This  rude- 
ness of  mine  occasioned  a  profound  silence  for  some  minutes 
and  they  fell  into  a  good-natured  discourse  of  the  ill  conse- 
quences of  too  much  application,  and  remembered  how  many 
apoplexies,  gouts,  and  dropsies  had  happened  among  the  hard 
students  of  their  acquaintance.  As  I  never  studied  any  thing 
in  my  life,  and  have  always  (at  least  from  fifteen)  thought  the 
reputation  of  learning  a  misfortune  to  a  woman,  I  was  resolved 
to  believe  these  stories  were  not  meant  at  me  :  I  grew  silent  in 
my  turn,  and  took  up  a  card  that  lay  on  a  table,  and  amused 
myself  with  smoking  it  over  a  candle.  In  the  mean  time  (as 
the  song  says), 

Their  tattles  all  run,  as  swift  as  the  sun, 
Of  who  had  won,  and  who  was  undone 
By  their  gaming  and  sitting  up  late. 

When  it  was  observed  I  entered  into  none  of  these  topics,  I 
was  addressed  by  an  obliging  lady,  who  pitied  my  stupidity. 
"  Iudeed,  madam,  you  should  buy  horses  to  that  fine  machine 
you  have  at  Padua ;  of  what  use  is  it  standing  in  the  portico  V 
"  Perhaps,"  said  another,  wittily,  "  of  as  much  use  as  a  stand- 
ing dish."  A  gaping  school-boy  added  with  still  more  wit, 
"  I  have  seen  at  a  country  gentleman's  table  a  venison-pasty 
made  of  wood."  I  was  not  at  all  vexed  by  said  school-boy, 
not  because  he  was  (in  more  senses  than  one)  the  highest  of 

*  TTortley. 


SIR    JAMES     AND     LADY     STEUART.  345 

the  company,  but  knowing  he  did  not  mean  to  offend  me.  I 
confess  (to  my  shame  be  it  spoken)  I  was  grieved  at  the 
triumph  that  appeared  in  the  eyes  of  the  king  and  queen  of 
the  company,  the  court  being  tolerably  full.  His  majesty 
walked  off  early  with  the  air  befitting  his  dignity,  followed  by 
his  train  of  courtiers,  who,  like  courtiers,  were  laughing  among 
themselves  as  they  followed  him :  and  I  was  left  with  the  two 
queens,  one  of  whom  was  making  ruffles  for  the  man  she  loved 
and  the  other  slopping  tea,  for  the  good  of  her  country.  The} 
renewed  their  generous  endeavors  to  set  me  right,  and  I  (grace- 
less beast  that  I  am)  take  up  the  smoked  card  which  lay  beforf 
me,  and  with  the  corner  of  another  wrote — 

If  ever  I  one  thought  bestow 

On  what  such  fools  advise, 
May  I  be  dull  enough  to  grow 

Most  miserably  wise. 

And  flung  down  the  card  on  the  table,  and  myself  out  of  the 
room,  in  the  most  indecent  fury.  A  few  minutes  on  the  cold 
water  convinced  me  of  my  folly,  and  I  went  home  as  much 
mortified  as  my  Lord  E.  when  he  has  lost  his  last  stake  of 
hazard.  Pray  don't  think  (if  you  can  help  it)  this  is  an  af- 
fectation of  mine  to  enhance  the  value  of  a  talent  I  would  be 
thought  to  despise ;  as  celebrated  beauties  often  talk  of  the 
charms  of  good  sense,  having  some  reason  to  fear  their  mental 
qualities  are  not  quite  so  conspicuous  as  their  outside  lovely 
form. 


LETTER  VH. 

Venice,  Oct.  13,  1759. 
You  have  made  (what  I  did  not  think  possible)  writing  to 
you  uneasy  to  me.      After  confessing  that  you  barbarously 
criticise  on  my  letters,  I  have  much  ado  to  summon  up  cour- 
age enough  to  set  pen  to  paper.    Can  you  answer  this  to  your 

15* 


346  LETTERS     TO 

ronscience,  to  sit  gravely  and  maliciously  to  examiue  lines 
written  with  rapidity  and  sent  without  reading  over  ?  This  is 
worse  than  surprising  a  fine  lady  just  sat  down  to  the  toilet : 
I  am  content  to  let  you  see  my  mind  undressed,  but  I  will  not 
have  you  so  curiously  remark  the  defects  in  it.  To  carry  on 
the  simile,  when  a  beauty  appears  with  all  her  graces  and  airs 
adorned  for  a  ball,  it  is  lawful  to  censure  whatever  you  see 
amiss  in  her  ornaments ;  but  when  you  are  received  to  a 
friendly  breakfast,  'tis  downright  cruelty  or  (something  worse) 
ingratitude,  to  view  too  nicely  all  the  disorder  you  may  see.  I 
desire  you  would  sink  the  critic  in  the  friend,  and  never  forget 
that  I  do  not  write  to  you  and  dear  Lady  Fanny  from  my 
head  but  from  my  heart.  I  wish  her  joy  on  the  continuance 
of  her  taste  for  punch,  but  I  am  sure  she  will  agree  with  me 
that  the  zest  of  good  company  is  very  necessary  to  give  it  a 
flavor  :  to  her  it  is  a  vivifying  nectar,  to  me  it  would  be  in- 
sipid river-water,  and  chill  the  spirits  it  should  raise,  by  reflect- 
ing on  the  cheerful  moments  we  once  passed  together,  which 
can  no  more  return.  This  thought  is  so  very  disagreeable  I 
will  put  it  as  far  from  me  as  possible.  My  chief  study  all  my 
life  has  been  to  lighten  misfortunes  and  multiply  pleasures  as 
far  as  human  nature  can :  when  I  have  nothing  to  find  in  my- 
self from  which  I  can  extract  any  kind  of  delight,  I  think  on 
the  happiness  of  my  friends,  and  rejoice  in  the  joy  with  which 
you  converse  together,  and  look  on  the  beautiful  young  plant 
from  which  you  may  so  reasonably  expect  honor  and  felicity. 
In  other  days  I  think  over  the  comic  scenes  that  are  daily  ex- 
hibited on  the  great  stage  of  the  world  for  my  entertainment. 
I  am  charmed  with  the  account  of  the  Moravians,  who  cer- 
tainly exceed  all  mankind  in  absurdity  of  principles  and  mad- 
ness of  practice  ;  yet  this  people  walk  erect  and  are  numbered 
among  rational  beings.  I  imagined  after  three  thousand 
years1  working  at  creeds  and  theological  whimsies,  there  re- 
mained nothing  new  to  be  invented ;  I  see  the  fund  is  inex- 
haustible, and  we  may  say  of  folly  what  Horace  has  said  of 
vice: 


SIR    JAMES     AND     LADY     STEUART.  347 

^Etas  parentum,  pejor  avis,  tulit 
Nos  nequiores,  mox  daturos 
Progeniem  vitiosiorem. 

I  will  not  ask  pardon  for  this  quotation ;  it  is  God's  mercy 
I  did  not  put  it  into  English :  when  one  is  haunted  (as  I  am) 
by  the  Daemon  of  Poesie,  it  must  come  out  in  one  shape  or 
another,  and  you  will  own  that  nobody  shows  it  to  more  ad- 
vantage than  the  author  I  have  mentioned.  Adieu,  «eir ;  read 
with  candor ;  forgive  what  you  can't  excuse,  in  favor  of  the 
real  esteem  and  affection  with  which  I  am  Lady  Fanny's  and 
your  most  humble  servant. 


LETTER  Vm. 

Venice,  March  1,  1760. 
I  have  at  length  received  your  valuable  and  magnificent 
present.  You  will  have  me  give  my  opinion  ;  I  know  not  how 
to  do  it  without  your  accusing  me  of  flattery  (though  I  am 
sure  no  other  person  would  suspect  it).  It  is  hard  to  forbear 
praising  where  there  is  so  much  due  ;  yet  I  would  rather  talk 
of  your  performance  to  any  other  than  yourself.  If  I  durst 
speak  out,  I  would  say  that  you  have  explained  in  the  best 
manner  the  most  difficult  subject,  and  struck  out  new  lights 
that  are  necessary  to  enforce  conviction  even  to  those  who 
have  studied  the  points  you  treat ;  and  who  are  often  misled 
by  prejudices  which  fall  away,  while  your  instructions  take 
place  in  every  mind  capable  of  distinguishing  truth  from 
falsehood.  Upon  the  whole,  permit  me  to  say  I  never  saw  a 
treatise  which  gave  me  so  much  pleasure  and  information. 
You  show  yourself  qualified  by  nature  for  the  charge  of  first 
minister  :  how  far  that  would  recommend  you  to  a  minister  I 
think  problematic.  I  am  beginning  to  read  over  your  works  a 
second  time ;  my  approbation  increases  as  I  go  on  ;  the  solid- 
ity of  your  reflections  would  overbalance  a  defect  in  style,  if 
there  was  any,  but  I  sincerely  find  none.     The  nervous  man- 


348  LETTERS     TO 

ner  in  which  you  write  is  infinitely  preferable  to  the  florid 
phrases,  which  are  always  improper  in  a  book  of  this  nature, 
which  is  not  designed  to  move  the  passions  but  to  convince 
the  reason. 

I  ought  to  say  a  great  deal  for  the  honor  "you  have  done 
me  in  your  dedication.  Lord  Burleigh,  or  even  Julius  Caesar, 
would  have  been  proud  of  it ;  I  can  have  no  pretense  to  de- 
serve it,  .yet  I  may  truly  say  nobody  can  be  more  sensible  of 
the  value  of  your  present.  It  is  pity  the  world  should  be 
deprived  of  the  advantage  of  so  useful  a  performance ;  yet 
perhaps  it  may  be  necessary  to  wait  some  time  before  you 
publish  certain  truths  that  are  not  yet  popularly  received. 

I  hope  our  dear  Lady  Fanny  is  in  good  health,  and  your 
young  gentleman  daily  improving  both  by  nature  and  instruc- 
tion. I  flatter  myself  that  your  affairs  will  soon  take  a  more 
agreeable  turn.  Wherever  you  are  I  wish  you  every  happi- 
ness ;  and  wherever  I  am  you  will  ever  have  a  faithful  humble 
servant,  engaged  both  by  inclination  and  obligation  to  be 
always  at  your  command. 


LETTER  IX. 

Venice,  April  7,  1760. 
I  have  now  with  great  pleasure,  and  I  flatter  myself  with 
some  improvement,  read  over  again  your  delightful  and  in- 
structive treatise ;  you  have  opened  to  me  several  truths  of 
which  I  had  before  only  a  confused  idea.  I  confess  I  can  not 
help  being  a  little  vain  of  comprehending  a  system  that  is 
calculated  only  for  a  thinking  mind,  and  can  not  be  tasted 
without  a  willingness  to  lay  aside  many  prejudices  which  arise 
from  education  and  the  conversation  of  people  no  wiser  than 
ourselves.  I  do  not  only  mean  my  own  sex  when  I  speak  of 
our  confined  way  of  reasoning ;  there  are  many  of  yours  as 
incapable  of  judging  otherwise  than  they  have  been  early 
taught,  as  the  most  ignorant  milkmaid :  nay,  I  believe  a  girl 


SIR    JAMES     AND     LADY    STEUART.  349 

out  of  a  village  or  a  nursery  more  capable  of  receiving  in- 
struction than  a  lad  just  free  from  the  university.  It  is  not 
difficult  to  write  on  blank  paper,  but  'tis  a  tedious  if  not  an 
impossible  task  to  scrape  out  nonsense  already  written,  and  put 
better  sense  in  the  place  of  it.  Mr.  Steuart  is  very  happy  to 
be  under  the  direction  of  a  father  who  will  not  suffer  him  to 
entertain  errors  at  an  age  when  'tis  hard  to  distinguish  them. 
I  often  look  back  on  my  past  life  in  the  light  in  which  old 
Montaigne  considered  it ;  it  is,  perhaps,  a  more  useful  study 
than  it  is  generally  imagined.  Mr.  Locke,  who  has  made  the 
best  dissection  of  the  human  mind  of  any  author  I  have  ever 
read,  declares  that  he  has  drawn  all  his  observations  from  re- 
flecting on  the  progression  of  his  own  ideas.  It  is  true  a  very 
small  proportion  of  knowledge  is  allowed  us  in  this  world, 
few  truths  permitted,  but  those  truths  are  plain  ;  they  may  be 
overseen  or  artfully  obscured  from  our  sight,  but  when  pointed 
out  to  us,  it  is  impossible  to  resist  the  conviction  that  accom- 
panies them.  I  am  persuaded  your  manuscript  would  have 
the  same  effect  on  every  candid  reader  it  has  on  me :  but  I 
am  afraid  their  number  is  very  small. 

I  think  the  omission  you  desire  in  the  act  of  indemnity  can 
not  fail  of  happening ;  I  shall  take  every  opportunity  of  put- 
ting people  of  my  acquaintance  in  mind  of  it :  at  present  the 
real  director*  (at  least  of  home  affairs)  is  a  countryman  of 
yours ;  but  you  know  there  are  certain  circumstances  that 
may  disincline  from  meddling  in  some  nice  matters.  I  am  al- 
ways with  gratitude  and  the  truest  esteem,  both  to  Lady  Frances 
and  yourself,  a  faithful  humble  servant. 

*  Lord  Mansfield  is  probably  here  alluded  to.  He  was  a  member 
of  the  Cabinet  during  the  last  years  of  George  the  Second's  reign,  and 
supposed  to  have  great  influence  with  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  the 
nominal  head  of  that  administration.  The  circumstance  of  his  having 
been  himself  attached  on  the  score  of  early  Jacobinism,  might  make 
him  cautious  of  appearing  to  protect  persons  in  Sir  James  Steuart's 
situation. 


350  LETTERS     TO 

LETTER  X. 

Venice,  January,  13,  1761. 

1  have  indulged  myself  some  time  with  day-dreams  of  the 
happiness  I  hoped  to  enjoy  this  summer  in  the  conversation 
of  Lady  Fanny  and  Sir  James  S. ;  but  I  hear  such  frightful 
stories  of  precipices  and  hovels  during  the  whole  journey,  I 
begin  to  fear  there  is  no  such  pleasure  allotted  me  in  the  book 
of  fate  :  the  Alps  were  once  mole-hills  in  my  sight  when  they 
interposed  between  me  and  the  slightest  inclination  ;  now  age 
begins  to  freeze,  and  brings  with  it  the  usual  train  of  melan- 
choly apprehensions.  Poor  human-kind  !  We  always  march 
blindly  on ;  the  fire  of  youth  represents  to  us  all  our  wishes 
possible  :  and,  that  over,  we  fall  into  despondency  that  prevents 
even  easy  enterprises :  a  stove  in  winter,  a  garden  in  summer 
bounds  all  our  desires,  or  at  least  our  undertakings.  If  Mr. 
Steuart  would  disclose  all  his  imaginations,  I  dare  swear  he 
has  some  thoughts  of  emulating  Alexander  or  Demosthenes, 
perhaps  both  :  nothing  seems  difficult  at  his  time  of  life,  every 
thing  at  mine.  I  am  very  unwilling,  but  am  afraid  I  must 
submit  to  the  confinement  of  my  boat  and  my  easy  chair,  and 
go  no  further  than  they  can  carry  me.  Why  are  our  views  so 
extensive,  and  our  power  so  miserably  limited  ?  This  is  among 
the  mysteries  which  (as  you  justly  say)  will  remain  ever  un- 
folded to  our  shallow  capacities.  I  am  much  inclined  to  think 
we  are  no  more  free  agents  than  the  queen  of  clubs  when  she 
victoriously  takes  prisoner  the  knave  of  hearts,  and  all  our  ef- 
forts (when  we  rebel  against  destiny)  as  weak  as  a  card  that 
sticks  to  a  glove  when  the  gamester  is  determined  to  throw  it 
on  the  table.  Let  us  then  (which  is  the  only  true  philosophy) 
be  contented  with  our  chance,  and  make  the  best  of  that  very 
bad  bargain  of  being  born  in  this  wild  planet ;  where  we  may 
find  however  (God  be  thanked)  much  to.  laugh  at,  though  little 
to  approve. 

I  confess  I  delight  extremely  in  looking  at  men  in  that  light. 
How  many  thousands  trample  under  foot  honor,  ease,  and 


SIR     JAMES     AND     LADY     STEUART.  851 

pleasure,  in  pursuit  of  ribbons  of  certain  colors,  dabs  of  em* 
broidery  on  their  clothes,  and  gilt  wood  carved  behind  their 
coaches  in  a  particular  figure  ?  Others  breaking  their  hearts 
till  they  are  distinguished  by  the  shape  and  color  of  their 
hats ;  and,  in  general,  all  people  earnestly  seeking  what  they 
do  not  want,  while  they  neglect  the  real  blessings  in  their 
possession,  I  mean  the  innocent  gratification  of  their  senses, 
which  is  all  we  can  properly  call  our  own.  For  my  part,  I 
will  endeavor  to  comfort  myself  for  the  cruel  disappointment 
I  find  in  renouncing  Tubingen  by  eating  some  fresh  oysters 
on  the  table.  I  hope  you  are  sitting  down  with  dear  Lady  F. 
to  some  admirable  red  partridges,  which  I  think  are  the  growth 
of  that  country.     Adieu ! 


LETTER  XI. 

Venice,  January,  25,  1Y6L 
Sir — I  have  not  returned  my  thanks  for  your  obliging  let- 
ter so  soon  as  both  duty  and  inclination  prompted  me ;  but  I 
have  had  so  severe  a  cold  accompanied  with  a  weakness  in  my 
eyes,  that  I  have  been  confined  to  my  store  for  many  days. 
This  is  the  first  use  I  make  of  my  pen.  I  will  not  engage  in  a 
dispute  with  you,  being  very  sure  that  I  am  unable  to  support 
it  against  you ;  yet  I  own  I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion  in  re- 
lation to  the  civil  list.  I  know  it  has  long  been  a  custom  to 
begin  every  reign  with  some  mark  of  the  people's  love  exceed 
ing  what  was  shown  to  the  predecessor :  I  am  glad  to  see  this 
distinguished  by  the  trust  and  affection  of  the  king  to  his 
people,  and  am  persuaded  it  will  have  a  very  good  effect  on 
all  our  affairs  foreign  and  domestic.  It  is  possible  my  daugh- 
ter may  have  some  partiality ;  the  character  of  his  present 
majesty  needs  only  be  half  so  perfect  as  she  describes  it,  to  be 
such  a  monarch  as  has  never  existed  but  in  romances.  Though 
I  am  preparing  for  my  last  and  longest  journey,  and  stand  on 
the  threshold  of  this  dirty  world,  my  several  infirmities  like 


352  LETTERS     TO 

post  horses  ready  to  hurry  me  away,  I  can  not  be  insensible  to 
the  happiness  of  my  native  country,  and  am  glad  to  see  the 
prospect  of  a  prosperity  and  harmony  that  I  never  was  wit- 
ness to.  I  hope  my  friends  will  be  included  in  the  public  joy ; 
and  I  shall  always  think  Lady  Fanny  and  Sir  James  Steuart 
in  the  first  rank  of  those  I  wish  to  serve.  Your  conversation 
is  a  pleasure  I  would  prefer  to  any  other,  but  I  confess  even 
that  can  not  make  me  desire  to  be  in  London,  especially  at 
this  time  when  the  shadow  of  credit  that  I  should  be  supposed 
to  possess  would  attract  daily  solicitations,  and  gain  me  a 
number  of  enemies  who  would  never  forgive  me  the  not  per- 
forming impossibilities.  If  all  people  thought  of  power  as  I 
do,  it  would  be  avoided  with  as  much  eagerness  as  it  is  now 
sought.  I  never  knew  any  person  that  had  it  who  did  not 
lament  the  load  ;  though  I  confess  (so  infirm  is  human  nature) 
they  have  all  endeavored  to  retain  it,  at  the  same  time  they 
complained  of  it. 


LETTER  XH. 

July  22,  1761. 

Sir — I  expect  you  should  wish  me  joy  on  the  good  fortune 
of  a  friend  I  esteem  in  the  highest  manner.  I  have  always 
preferred  the  interest  of  those  I  love  to  my  own.  You  need 
not  doubt  of  my  sincere  affection  toward  the  lady  and  young 
gentleman  you  mention.  My  own  affairs  here  grow  worse  and 
worce ;  my  indiscreet  well-wishers  do  me  as  much  harm,  more 
harm  than  any  declared  enemy  could  do.  The  notable  plan 
of  our  great  politician  is  to  make  me  surrender  my  little  castle ; 
I,  with  the  true  spirit  of  old  Whiggism,  resolve  to  keep  my 
ground,  though  I  starve  in  the  maintaining  it,  or  am  eat  up  by 
the  wild  beasts  of  the  wood,  meaning  gnats  and  flies.  A  word 
to  the  wise ;  you  understand  me.  You  may  have  heard  of  a 
facetious  gentleman  vulgarly  called  Tom  Earle,  i.  e.,  Giles 
Earle,*  Esq.     His  toast  was  always : 

*  A  Lord  of  the  Treasury.     See  Honorable  Horace  "Walpole's  letters 


8IE    JAMES     AND     LADY    STEUABT.  353 

"  God  bless  you,  whatever  becomes  of  me  !" 

The  day  when  hungry  friar  wishes 
He  might  eat  other  food  than  fishes, 
Or,  to  explain  the  date  more  fully, 
The  twenty-second  instant  July. 


LETTER  Xm. 

October  1,  1*761. 

Madam  and  Sir — I  am  now  part  of  my  way  to  England, 
where  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  ;  it  is  so  long 
since  I  have  heard  from  you,  I  can  not  guess  where  you  are. 
I  venture  this  to  Tubingen,  though  I  fancy  two  letters  I  have  di- 
rected thither  have  miscarried,  and  am  so  uncertain  of  the  fate 
of  this  I  know  not  what  to  say.  I  think  I  can  not  err  in  re- 
peating a  sincere  truth,  that  I  am,  and  ever  shall  be,  faithfully 
your  most  humble  servant. 

Since  I  wrote  the  above  I  am  told  I  may  go  by  Wirtem- 
berg  to  Frankfort.  I  will  then  take  that  road  in  hopes  of  see- 
ing you. 


LETTER  XIV. 

Rotterdam,  Nov.  20,  1161. 
Sir — I  received  yesterday  your  obliging  and  welcome  letter 
by  the  hands  of  Mr.  Simpson.  I  tried  in  vain  to  find  you  at 
Amsterdam :  I  began  to  think  we  resembled  two  parallel  lines, 
destined  to  be  always  near  and  never  to  meet.  You  know  there 
is  no  fighting  (at  least  no  overcoming)  destiny.  So  far  I  am  a 
confirmed  Calvinist,  according  to  the  notions  of  the  country 

to  Sir  Horace  Mann,  Dec.  16,  1741,  for  an  account  of  a  debate  and  a 
division  upon  the  occasion  of  the  election  of  the  Chairman  of  the  Com- 
mittees of  the  House  of  Commons,  in  which  some  account  of  this  gen- 
tleman is  to  be  found. 


354  LETTERS     TO 

where  I  now  exist.  I  am  dragging  my  ragged  remnant  of  life 
to  England.  The  wind  and  tide  are  against  me ;  how  far  I  have 
strength  to  struggle  against  both  I  know  not ;  that  I  am  arrived 
here  is  as  much  a  miracle  as  any  in  the  golden  legend ;  and  if 
I  had  foreseen  half  the  difficulties  I  have  met  with,  I  should 
not  certainly  have  had  courage  enough  to  undertake  it.  I  have 
scrambled  through  more  dangers  than  his  M.  of  P.,*  or  even 
my  well-beloved  cousin  (not  counselor)  Marquis  Granby  ;f 
but  my  spirits  fail  me  when  I  think  of  my  friends  risking  either 
health  or  happiness.  I  will  write  to  Lady  Fanny  to  hinder 
your  coming  to  Rotterdam,  and  will  sooner  make  one  jump 
more  myself  to  wait  on  you  at  Antwerp.  I  am  glad  poor  D. 
has  sold  his  medals.  I  confess  I  thought  his  buying  them  a 
very  bold  stroke.  I  supposed  that  he  had  already  left  Lon- 
don, but  am  told  that  he  has  been  prevented  by  the  machina- 
tions of  that  excellent  politician  and  truly  great  man  M 

and  his  ministry. 

My  dear  Lady  Fanny,  I  am  persuaded  that  you  are  more 
nearly  concerned  for  the  health  of  Sir  James  than  he  is  him- 
self. I  address  myself  to  you,  to  insist  on  it  to  him,  not  to 
undertake  a  winter  progress  in  the  beginning  of  a  fit  of  the 
gout. 

I  am  nailed  down  here  by  a  severe  illness  of  my  poor  Mari- 
anne, who  has  not  been  able  to  endure  the  frights  and  fa- 
tigues that  we  have  passed.  If  I  live  to  see  Great  Britain,  you 
will  have  there  a  sincere  and  faithful  servant  that  will  omit  no 
occasion  of  serving  you ;  and  I  think  it  almost  impossible  I 
should  not  succeed.  You  must  be  loved  and  esteemed  wher- 
ever you  are  known.  Give  me  leave,  however,  dear  madam, 
to  combat  some  of  your  notions,  or  more  properly  speaking, 
your  passions.     Mr.  Steuart  is  in  a  situation  that  opens  the 

*  Majesty  of  Prussia. 

f  Lord  Granby  married  the  daughter  of  Charles,  sixth  Duke  of  Som- 
erset, by  his  wife  the  youngest  daughter  of  Daniel,  Earl  of  "Winchelsea 
and  Nottingham,  whose  wife  was  the  daughter  of  Basil  Earl  Fielding, 
and  Lady  Mary's  first  cousin. 


SIR    JAMES     AND     LADY     STEUART.  355 

fairest  prospect  of  honor  and  advancement.  We  mothers  are 
all  apt  to  regret  the  absence  of  children  we  love :  Solomon  ad- 
vises the  sluggard  to  go  to  the  ant  and  be  wise  ;  we  should 
take  the  example  of  the  innocent  inhabitants  of  the  air,  when 
their  young  are  fledged,  they  are  delighted  to  see  them  fly  and 
peck  for  themselves.  Forgive  this  freedom.  I  have  no  other 
recipe  for  maternal  fondness,  a  distemper  which  has  long  af- 
flicted your  ladyship's  obliged  and  obedient  humble  servant. 


LETTER  XV. 

Rotterdam,  December  26,  1761. 
Sir — The  thaw  is  now  so  far  advan'  A  I  am  in  great  hopes 
of  moving  in  a  few  days.  My  first  care  at  London  will  be  your 
affairs  :  I  think  it  almost  impossible  I  should  not  succeed. 
You  may  assure  Lady  Fanny  no  endeavor  shall  be  wanting  on 
my  side :  if  I  find  any  material  objection  I  shall  not  fail  to  let 
you  know  it ;  I  confess  I  do  not  foresee  any.  A  young  gentle- 
man arrived  here  last  night,  who  is  perhaps  of  your  acquaint- 
ance, Mr.  Hamilton ;  he  is  hastening  to  London  in  expectation 
of  an  act  of  grace,  which  I  believe  will  be  granted.  I  flatter 
myself  with  the  view  of  seeing  you  in  England,  and  can  affirm 
with  truth  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  I  expect  there. 
Whatever  prosperity  my  family  now  enjoys,  it  will  add  much 
to  my  happiness  to  see  my  friends  easy ;  and  while  you  are 
unfortunate  I  shall  always  think  myself  so.  This  very  dull 
weather  operates  on  my  spirits,  though  I  use  my  utmost  efforts 
to  support  them  :  I  beg  dear  Lady  Fanny  to  do  the  same ;  a 
melancholy  state  of  mind  should  never  be  indulged,  since  it  often 
remains  even  when  the  cause  of  it  is  removed.  I  have  here 
neither  amusement  nor  conversation,  and  am  so  infected  by  the 
climate  that  I  verily  believe,  was  I  to  stay  long,  I  should  take 
to  smoking  and  drinking,  like  the  natives.  I  should  wish  you 
the  compliments  of  the  season,  a  merry  Christmas,  but  I  know 
not  how  to  do  it  while  you  remain  in  so  disagreeable  an  un- 


356  LETTERS     TO 

certainty  yet,  if  you  have  the  company  of  Mr.  Steuart,  his 
bloom  of  lite  will  insensibly  commuDicate  part  of  his  gayetv. 
If  I  could  have  foreseen  my  stay  in  this  part  of  the  world,  I 
would  have  made  a  trip  to  Antwerp  to  enjoy  a  conversation 
ever  honored  and  remembered  by,  sir  and  madam,  your  most 
faithful  and  obedient  humble  servant 


LETTER  XVL 


Rotterdam,  January  2,  1762. 

I  have  been  half  way  to  Helvoet,  and  was  obliged  to  turn 
back  by  the  mountains  of  sea  that  obstructed  our  passage : 
the  captain,  however,  gives  me  hopes  of  setting  out  in  two  or 
three  days.  I  have  had  so  many  disappointments  I  can  scarce 
entertain  the  flattering  thought  of  arriving  at  London. 
Wherever  I  am  you  may  depend  upon  it,  dear  madam,  I  shall 
ever  retain  the  warmest  sentiments  of  good-will  for  you  and 
your  family,  and  will  use  my  utmost  endeavors  to  give  you 
better  proofs  of  it  than  I  can  do  by  expressions  which  will 
always  fall  short  of  my  thoughts. 

Many  happy  new  years  to  you,  madam.  May  this  atone 
for  the  ill-fortune  of  those  that  are  past,  and  all  those  to  come 
be  cheerful.  Mr.  Hamilton,  whom  I  mentioned,  has,  I  believe, 
got  a  particular  pardon  ;  his  case  is  extraordinary,  having  no 
relation  to  public  affairs.  I  am  sorry  for  poor  Duff,  and  fear 
that  wherever  he  moves  there  will  be  little  difference  in  his 
situation ;  he  carries  with  him  such  a  load  of  indiscretion,  it 
is  hardly  in  the  power  of  Fortune  to  save  him.  We  are 
crowded  with  officers  of  all  ranks,  returning  to  England.  The 
peace  seems  to  be  more  distant  than  ever :  it  would  be  very 
indiff-^ent  to  me  if  it  did  not  affect  my  friends  ;  my  remain- 
ing tim^  in  this  world  is  so  short  I  have  few  wishes  to  make 
for  myself,  and  when  I  am  free  from  pain  ought  to  think  my- 
self happy. 

It  is  uncommon  at  my  age  to  have  no  distemper  and  to  re- 


SIR    JAMES     AND     LAbY     STEUART.  357 

tain  all  my  senses  in  their  first  degree  of  perfection.  I  should 
be  unworthy  these  blessings  if  I  did  not  acknowledge  them. 
If  lam  so  fortunate  to  see  your  ladyship  and  Sir  James  in 
good  health  at  London,  it  will  be  a  great  addition  to  the  satis- 
faction of,  dear  madam,  your  faithful  and  obedient  humble 
servant. 


LETTER  XVH. 

Great  George-street,  March  5th,  1762. 

Dear  Madam — I  have  written  several  letters  to  your  lady- 
ship, but  I  perceive  by  that  I  had  the  honor  to  receive  yester- 
day they  have  all  miscarried.  I  can  assign  no  reason  for  it 
but  the  uncertainty  of  the  post.  I  am  told  many  mails  have 
been  taken,  and  the  letters  either  thrown  away  or  suppressed. 
We  must  suffer  this  among  the  common  calamities  of  war. 
Our  correspondence  is  so  innocent  we  have  no  reason  to  ap- 
prehend our  secrets  being  discovered. 

I  am  proud  to  make  public  profession  of  being,  dear  madam, 
ever  your  most  faithful  humble  servant. 

In  writing  to  you,  I  think  I  write  to  your  whole  family ;  I 
hope  they  think  so  too. 


LETTER  XVIH. 

July  2d,  1162* 
Dear  Madam — I  have  been  ill  a  long  time,  and  am  now  so 
bad  I  am  little  capable  of  writing,  but  I  would  not  pass  in 
your  opinion  as  either  stupid  or  ungrateful.  My  heart  is 
always  warm  in  your  service,  and  I  am  always  told  your 
affairs  shall  be  taken  care  of.  You  may  depend,  dear  madam, 
nothing  shall  be  wanting  on  the  part  of  your  ladyship's  faith- 
ful humble  servant. 

*  Lady  Mary  died  on  the  21st  of  August,  following. 


SELECTIONS  FROM  VARIOUS  LETTERS* 


The  Small-Pox  and  Inoculation. — Apropos  of  distem- 
pers, I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  thing  that  will  make  you  wish 
yourself  here.  The  small-pox,  so  fatal  and  so  general  among 
us,  is  here  entirely  harmless  by  the  invention  of  ingrafting, 
which  is  the  term  they  give  it.  TJ*ere  is  a  set  of  old  wo- 
men who  make  it  their  business  to  perform  the  operation 
every  autumn,  in  the  month  of  September,  when  the  great 
heat  is  abated.  People  send  to  one  another  to  know  if  any 
of  their  family  has  a  mind  to  have  the  small-pox  :  they  make 
parties  for  this  purpose,  and  when  they  are  met  (commonly 
fifteen  or  sixteen  together),  the  old  woman  comes  with  a  nut- 
shell full  of  the  matter  of  the  best  sort  of  small-pox,  and  asks 
what  vein  you  please  to  have  opened.  She  immediately  rips 
open  that  you  offer  to  her  with  a  large  needle  (which  gives 
you  no  more  pain  than  a  common  scratch),  and  puts  into  the 
vein  as  much  matter  as  can  lie  upon  the. head  of  her  needle, 
and  after  that  binds  up  the  little  wound  with  a  hollow  bit  of 
shell ;  and  in  this  manner  opens  four  or  five  veins.  The  Gre- 
cians have  commonly  the  superstition  of  opening  one  in  the 
middle  of  the  forehead,  one  in  each  arm,  and  one  on  the 
breast,  to  mark  the  sign  of  the  cross ;  but  this  has  a  very  ill 
effect,  all  these  wounds  leaving  little  scars,  and  is  not  done  by 

*  These  extracts  are  made  on  the  same  plan  as  those  in  the  "  Let- 
ters of  Madame  de  Sevigne,"  viz.,  to  bring  together  whatever  was  of 
real  value  in  the  omitted  Letters  of  Lady  Mary,  and  thus  make  a  clear 
exposition  of  her  talents  and  character. — Am.  Ed. 


SELECTIONS     FROM     VARIOUS     LETTERS.       359 

those  that  are  not  superstitious,  who  choose  to  have  them  in 
the  legs,  or  that  part  of  the  arm  that  is  concealed.  The  chil- 
dren or  young  patients  play  together  all  the  rest  of  the  day, 
and  are  in  perfect  health  to  the  eighth.  Then  the  fever  begins 
to  seize  them,  and  they  keep  their  beds  two  days,  very  seldom 
three.  They  have  very  rarely  above  twenty  or  thirty  in  their 
faces,  which  never  mark ;  and  m  eight  days'  time  they  are  as 
well  as  before  their  illness.  Where  they  are  wounded  there 
remain  running  sores  during  the  distemper,  which  I  don't 
doubt  is  a  great  relief  to  it.  Every  year  thousands  undergo 
this  operation ;  and  the  French  embassador  says  pleasantly, 
that  they  take  the  small-pox  here  by  way  of  diversion,  as  they 
take  the  waters  in  other  countries.  There  is  no  example  of 
any  one  that  has  died  in  it ;  and  you  may  believe  I  am  well 
satisfied  of  the  safety  of  this  experiment,  since  I  intend  to  try 
it  on  my  dear  little  son. 

I  am  patriot  enough  to  take  pains  to  bring  this  useful  inven- 
tion into  fashion  in  England  ;  and  I  should  not  fail  to  write  to 
some  of  our  doctors  very  particularly  about  it,  if  I  knew  any 
one  of  them  that  I  thought  had  virtue  enough  to  destroy  such 
a  considerable  branch  of  their  revenue  for  the  good  to  man- 
kind. But  that  distemper  is  too  beneficial  to  them  not  to  ex- 
pose to  all  their  resentment  the  hardy  wight  that  should  un- 
dertake to  put  an  end  to  it.  Perhaps,  if  I  live  to  return,  1 
may,  however,  have  courage  to  war  with  them.  Upon  this 
occasion  admire  the  heroism  in  the  heart  of  your  friend. 


Life  at  Vienna  in  1716. — It  is  not  from  Austria  that  one 
can  write  with  vivacity,  and  I  am  already  infected  with  the 
phlegm  of  the  country.  Even  their  amours  and  their  quar- 
rels are  carried  on  with  a  surprising  temper,  and  they  are 
never  lively  but  upon  points  of  ceremony.  There,  I  own,  they 
show  all  their  passions ;  and  'tis  not  long  since  two  coaches, 
meeting  in  a  narrow  street  at  night,  the  ladies  in  them  not 
being  able  to  adjust  the  ceremonial  of  which  should  go  back, 
sat  there  with  equal  gallantry  till   two  in  the  morning,  and 


360  SELECTIONS     FROM 

were  both  so  fully  determined  to  die  upon  the  spot,  rather 
than  yield  in  a  point  of  that  importance,  that  the  street 
would  never  have  been  cleared  till  their  deaths,  if  the  empe- 
ror had  not  sent  his  guards  to  part  them ;  and  even  then  they 
refused  to  stir  till  the  expedient  could  be  found  out  of  taking 
them  both  out  in  chairs,  exactly  in  the  same  moment.  After 
the  ladies  were  agreed,  it  was  with  some  difficulty  that  the 
pas  was  decided  between  the  two  coachmen,  no  less  tenacious 
of  their  rank  than  the  ladies. 

This  passion  is  so  omnipotent  in  the  breasts  of  the  women 
that  even  their  husbands  never  die  but  they  are  ready  to 
break  their  hearts,  because  that  fatal  hour  puts  an  end  to 
their  rank,  no  widows  having  any  place  at  Vienna.  The  men 
are  not  much  less  touched  with  this  point  of  honor,  and  they 
do  not  only  scorn  to  marry,  but  even  to  make  love  to  any 
woman  of  a  family  not  as  illustrious  as  their  own ;  and  the 
pedigree  is  much  more  considered  by  them  than  either  the 
complexion  or  features  of  their  mistresses.  Happy  are  the 
shes  that  can  number  among  their  ancestors  counts  of  the 
empire ;  they  have  neither  occasion  for  beauty,  money,  nor 
good  conduct,  to  get  them  husbands.  'Tis  true,  as  to  money, 
it  is  seldom  any  advantage  to  the  man  they  marry  ;  the  laws 
of  Austria  confine  the  woman's  portion  to  two  thousand  florins 
(about  two  hundred  pounds  English),  and  whatever  they  have 
beside  remains  in  their  own  possession  and  disposal.  Thus, 
here  are  many  ladies  much  richer  than  their  husbands,  who 
are,  however,  obliged  to  allow  them  pin-money  agreeably  to 
their  quality ;  and  I  attribute  to  this  considerable  branch 
of  prerogative  the  liberty  that  they  take  upon  other  occasions. 
*****  *  #** 

If  I  should  undertake  to  tell  you  all  the  particulars,  in 
which  the  manners  here  differ  from  ours,  I  must  write  a  whole 
quire  of  the  dullest  stuff  that  ever  was  read,  or  printed  with- 
out being  read.  Their  dress  agrees  with  the  French  or  En- 
glish  in  no  one  article  but  wearing  petticoats.  They  have 
many  fashions  peculiar  to  themselves  ;  they  think  it  indecent 


VARIOUS     LETTERS.  361 

for  a  widow  ever  to  wear  green  or  rose-color,  but  all  the  other 
gayest  colors  at  her  own  discretion.  The  assemblies  here  are 
the  only  regular  diversion,  the  operas  being  always  at  court, 
and  commonly  on  some  particular  occasion.  Madame  Ra- 
butin  has  the  assembly  constantly  every  night  at  her  house  ; 
and  the  other  ladies,  whenever  they  have  a  mind  to  display 
the  magnificence  of  their  apartments,  or  oblige  a  friend  by 
complimenting  them  on  the  day  of  their  saint,  they  declare 
that  on  such  a  day  the  assembly  shall   be  at  their  house  in 

honor  of  the  feast  of  the  Count  or  Countess such  a  one. 

These  days  are  called  days  of  gala,  and  all  the  friends  or  re- 
lations of  the  lady,  whose  saint  it  is,  are  obliged  to  appear  in 
their  best  clothes,  and  all  their  jewels.  The  mistress  of  the 
house  takes  no  particular  notice  of  any  body,  nor  returns  any 
body's  visit ;  and  whoever  pleases  may  go,  without  the  for- 
mality of  being  presented.  The  company  are  entertained 
with  ice  in  several  forms,  winter  and  summer  ;  afterward  they 
divide  into  several  parties  of  ombre,  piquet,  or  conversation, 
all  games  of  hazard  being  forbidden. 


Marriage  op  the  Grand  Seignior's  Daughter. — The 
Grand  Seignior's  eldest  daughter  was  married  some  few  days 
before  I  came  hither ;  and,  upon  that  occasion,  the  Turkish 
ladies  display  all  their  magnificence.  The  bride  was  conducted 
to  her  husband's  house  in  very  great  splendor.  She  is  widow 
of  the  late  vizier,  who  was  killed  at  Peterwaradin,  though 
that  ought  rather  to  be  called  a  contract  than  a  marriage, 
since  she  never  has  lived  with  him ;  however,  the  greatest 
part  of  his  wealth  is  hers.  He  had  the  permission  of  visiting 
her  in  the  seraglio,  and,  being  one  of  the  handsomest  men  in 
the  empire,  had  very  much  engaged  her  affections.  When 
she  saw  this  second  husband,  who  is  at  least  fifty,  she  could 
not  forbear  bursting  into  tears.  He  is  indeed  a  man  of  merit, 
and  the  declared  favorite  of  the  sultan  (which  they  call  mosayp), 
but  that  is  not  enough  to  make  him  pleasing  in  the  eyes  of 
a  girl  of  thirteen. 

16* 


362  SELECTIONS     FROM 

Arbitrary  Government. — The  government  here  is  entirely 
in  the  hands  of  the  army :  the  Grand  Seignior,  with  all  his 
absolute  power,  is  as  much  a  slave  as  any  of  his  subjects, 
and  trembles  at  a  janizary's  frown.  Here  is,  indeed,  a  much 
greater  appearance  of  subjection  than  among  us  :  a  minister 
of  state  is  not  spoken  to  but  upon  the  knee  ;  should  a  reflec- 
tion on  his  conduct  be  dropped  in  a  coffee-house  (for  they 
have  spies  every  where),  the  house  would  be  razed  to  the 
ground,  and  perhaps  the  whole  company  put  to  the  torture. 
No  huzzaing  mobs,  senseless  pamphlets,  an€  tavern  disputes 
about  politics  ; 

A  consequential  ill  that  freedom  draws : 
A  bad  effect — but  from  a  noble  cause. 

None  of  our  harmless  calling  names  !  but  when  a  minister  here 
displeases  the  people,  in  three  hours'  time  he  is  dragged  even 
from  his  master's  arms.  They  cut  off  hands,  head,  and  feet, 
and  throw  them  before  the  palace  gate  with  all  the  respect  in 
the  world  ;  while  the  sultan  (to  whom  they  all  profess  an  un- 
limited adoration)  sits  trembling  in  his  apartment,  and  dare 
neither  defend  nor  revenge  his  favorite.  This  is  the  blessed 
condition  of  the  most  absolute  monarch  upon  earth,  who  owns 
no  law  but  his  will. 

I  can  not  help  wishing,  in  the  loyalty  of  my  heart,  that  the 
parliament  would  send  hither  a  ship-load  of  your  passive-obe- 
dient men,  that  they  might  see  arbitrary  government  in  it? 
clearest  and  strongest  light,  where  it  is  hard  to  judge  whethei 
the  prince,  people,  or  ministers,  are  most  miserable. 


Turkish  Houses. — Every  house,  great  and  small,  is  divided 
into  two  distinct  parts,  which  only  join  together  by  a  narrow 
passage.  The  first  house  has  a  large  court  before  it,  and  open 
galleries  all  round  it,  which  is  to  me  a  thing  very  agreeable. 
This  gallery  leads  to  all  the  chambers,  which  are  commonly 
large,  and  with  two  rows  of  windows,  the  first  being  of  painted 
glass :  they  seldom  build  above  two  stones,  each  of  which  has 


VARIOUS     LETTERS.  383 

galleries.  The  stairs  are  broad,  and  not  often  above  thirty  steps. 
This  is  the  house  belonging  to  the  lord,  and  the  adjoining  one 
is  called  the  harem,  that  is,  the  ladies'  apartment  (for  the  name 
of  seraglio  is  peculiar  to  the  Grand  Seignior)  ;  it  has  also  a  gal- 
lery running  round  it  toward  the  garden,  to  which  all  the  win- 
dows are  turned,  and  the  same  number  of  chambers  as  the 
other,  but  more  gay  and  splendid,  both  in  painting  and  furni- 
ture. The  second  row  of  windows  is  very  low,  with  grates  like 
those  of  convents ;  the  rooms  are  all  spread  with  Persian  car- 
pets, and  raised  at  one  end  of  them  (my  chambers  are  raised 
at  both  ends)  about  two  feet.  This  is  the  sofa,  which  is  laid 
with  a  richer  sort  of  carpet,  and  all  round  it  a  sort  of  couch, 
raised  half  a  foot,  covered  with  rich  silk  according  to  the  fancy 
or  magnificence  of  the  owner.  Mine  is  of  scarlet  cloth,  with  a 
gold  fringe ;  round  about  this  are  placed,  standing  against  the 
wall,  two  rows  of  cushions,  the  first  very  large,  and  the  next 
little  ones ;  and  here  the  Turks  display  their  greatest  magnifi- 
cence. They  are  generally  brocade,  or  embroidery  of  gold  wire 
upon  white  satin ;  nothing  can  look  more  gay  and  splendid. 
These  seats  are  also  so  convenient  and  easy,  that  I  believe  I 
shall  never  endure  chairs  as  long  as  I  live.  The  rooms  are 
low,  which  I  think  no  fault,  and  the  ceiling  is  always  of  wood, 
generally  inlaid  or  painted  with  flowers.  They  open  in  many 
places  with  folding-doors,  and  serve  for  cabinets,  I  think,  more 
conveniently  than  ours.  Between  the  windows  are  little  arches 
to  set  pots  of  perfume,  or  baskets  of  flowers.  But  what  pleases 
me  best,  is  the  fashion  of  having  marble  fountains  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  room,  which  throw  up  several  spouts  of  water,  giv- 
ing at  the  same  time  an  agreeable  coolness,  and  a  pleasant 
dashing  sound,  falling  from  one  basin  to  another.  Some  of 
these  are  very  magnificent.  Each  house  has  a  bagnio,  which 
consists  generally  in  two  or  three  little  rooms,  leaded  on  the 
top,  paved  with  marble,  with  basins,  cocks  of  water,  and  all 
conveniences  for  either  hot  or  cold  baths. 


364  SELECTIONS     FROM 

The  Churce  of  St.  Sophia — The  next  remarkable  structure 
is  that  of  St.  Sophia,  which  is  very  difficult  to  see.  I  was  forced 
to  send  three  times  to  the  caimaikam  (the  governor  of  the 
town),  and  he  assembled  the  chief  effendis,  or  heads  of  the  law, 
and  inquired  of  the  mufti  whether  it  was  lawful  to  permit  it. 
They  passed  some  days  in  this  important  debate ;  but  I  insisting 
on  my  request,  permission  was  granted.  I  can't  be  informed 
why  the  Turks  are  more  delicate  on  the  subject  of  this  mosque 
than  on  any  of  the  others,  where  what  Christian  pleases  may 
enter  without  scruple.  I  fancy  they  imagine  that,  having  been 
once  consecrated,  people,  on  pretense  of  curiosity,  might  pro- 
fane it  with  prayers,  particularly  to  those  saints  who  are  still 
very  visible  in  mosaic  work,  and  no  other  way  defaced  but  by 
the  decays  of  time ;  for  it  is  absolutely  false,  though  so  univer- 
sally asserted,  that  the  Turks  defaced  all  the  images  that  they 
found  in  the  city.  The  dome  of  St.  Sophia  is  said  to  be  one  hun- 
dred and  thirteen  feet  in  diameter,  built  upon  arches,  sustained 
by  vast  pillars  of  marble,  the  pavement  and  staii  3a se  marble. 
There  are  two  rows  of  galleries,  supported  with  pillars  of  parti- 
colored marble,  and  the  whole  roof  mosaic  work,  part  of  which 
decays  very  fast,  and  drops  down.  They  presented  me  a  hand- 
ful of  it ;  its  composition  seems  to  me  a  sort  of  glass,  or  that 
paste  with  which  they  make  counterfeit  jewels.  They  show 
here  the  tomb  of  the  Emperor  Constantine,  for  which  they  have 
a  great  veneration. 

The  Armenians. — Now  I  have  mentioned  the  Armenians, 
perhaps  it  will  be  agreeable  to  tell  you  something  of  that  na- 
tion, with  which  I  am  sure  you  are  utterly  unacquainted.  I 
will  not  trouble  you  with  the  geographical  account  of  the  situa- 
tion of  their  country,  which  you  may  see  in  the  maps,  or  a  re- 
lation of  their  ancient  greatness,  which  you  may  read  in  the 
Roman  history.  They  are  now  subject  to  the  Turks ;  and,  being 
very  industrious  in  trade,  and  increasing  and  multiplying,  are 
dispersed  in  great  numbers  through  all  the  Turkish  dominions. 
They  were,  as  they  say,  converted  to  the  Christian  religion  by 


VARIOUS    LETTERS.  365 

St.  Gregory,  and  are  perhaps  the  devoutest  Christians  in  the 
whole  world.  Th)  cbief  precepts  of  their  priest  enjoin  the  strict 
keeping  of  their  lents,  which  are  at  least  seven  months  in  every 
year,  and  are  not  to  be  dispensed  with  on  the  most  emergent 
necessity  ;  no  occasion  whatever  can  excuse  them,  if  they  touch 
any  thing  more  than  mere  herbs  or  roots  (without  oil)  and 
plain  dry  bread.  That  is  their  constant  diet.  Mr.  Wortley  has 
one  of  his  interpreters  of  this  nation ;  and  the  poor  fellow  was 
brought  so  low  by  the  severity  of  his  fasts  that  his  life  was 
despaired  of.  Yet  neither  his  master's  commands  nor  the 
doctor's  entreaties  (who  declared  nothing  else  could  save  his 
life),  were  powerful  enough  to  prevail  with  him  to  take  two  or 
three  spoonfuls  of  broth.  Excepting  this,  which  may  rather  be 
called  a  custom  than  an  article  of  faith,  I  see  very  little  in  their 
religion  different  from  ours.'  'Tis  true  they  seem  to  incline  very 
much  to  Mr.  Whiston's  doctrine ;  neither  do  I  think  the  Greek 
Church  very  distant  from  it,  since  'tis  certain  the  Holy  Spirit's 
proceeding  only  from  the  Father,  is  making  a  plain  subordina- 
tion in  the  Son.  But  the  Armenians  have  no  notion  of  tran- 
substantiation,  whatever  account  Sir  Paul  Rycaut  gives  of  them 
(which  account  I  am  apt  to  believe  was  designed  to  compliment 
our  court  in  1679) ;  and  they  have  a  great  horror  for  those 
among  them  that  change  to  the  Roman  religion. 


The  Paradise  of  Women. — As  to  your  next  inquiry,  I 
assure  you  it  is  certainly  false,  though  commonly  believed  in 
our  parts  of  the  world,  that  Mohammed  excludes  women  from 
any  share  in  a  future  happy  state.  He  was  too  much  a  gentle- 
man, and  loved  the  fair  sex  too  well,  to  use  them  so  barbar- 
ously. On  the  contrary,  he  promises  a  very  fine  paradise  to 
the  Turkish  women.  He  says,  indeed,  that  this  paradise  will 
be  a  separate  place  from  that  of  their  husbands ;  but  I  fancy 
the  most  part  of  them  won":  like  it  the  worse  for  that;  and 
that  the  regret  of  this  separai  ion  will  not  render  their  paradise 
the  less  agreeable. 


•366  SELECTIONS     FROM 

Relics  at  Ratlsbon. — I  have  been  to  see  the  churches 
here,  and  had  the  permission  of  touching  the  relics,  which  was 
never  suffered  in  places  where  I  was  not  known.  I  had,  by 
t.his  privilege,  the  opportunity  of  making  an  observation, 
which  I  doubt  not  might  have  been  made  in  all  the  other 
churches,  that  the  emeralds  and  rubies  which  they  show  round 
their  relics  and  images  are  most  of  them  false ;  though  they 
tell  you  that  many  of  the  Crosses  and  Madonnas,  set  round 
with  these  stones,  have  been  the  gifts  of  the  emperors  and 
other  great  princes.  I  don't  doubt,  indeed,  but  they  were  at 
first  jewels  of  value ;  but  the  good  fathers  have  found  it  con- 
venient to  apply  them  to  other  uses,  and  the  people  are  just  as 
well  satisfied  with  bits  of  glass.  Among  these  relics  they 
showed  me  a  prodigious  claw  set  in  gold,  which  they  called 
the  claw  of  a  griffin  ;  and  I  could  not  forbear  asking  the  reve- 
rend priest  that  showed  it  whether  the  griffin  was  a  saint  ? 
This  question  almost  put  him  beside  his  gravity ;  but  he  an- 
swered they  only  kept  it  as  a  cnriosity.  I  was  very  much 
scandalized  at  a  large  silver  image  of  the  Trinity,  where  the 
Father  is  represented  under  the  figure  of  a  decrepid  old  man, 
with  a  beard  down  to  his  knees,  and  a  triple  crown  on  his 
head,  holding  in  his  arms  the  Son,  fixed  on  the  cross,  and  the 
Holy  Ghost,  in  the  shape  of  a  dove,  hovering  over  him. 


A  Good  Ruler. — I  am  sincerely  afflicted  for  the  death  of 
the  doge*  He  is  lamented  here  by  all  ranks  of  people, 
as  their  common  parent.  He  really  answered  the  idea  of 
Lord  Bolingbroke's  imaginary  patriotic  prince,  and  was  the 
only  example  I  ever  knew  of  having  passed  through  the 
greatest  employments,  and  most  important  negotiations,  with- 
out ever  making  an  enemy.  When  I  was  at  Venice,  which 
was  some  months  before  his  election,  he  was  the  leading 
voice  in  the  senate,  which  would  have  been  dangerous  in  the 
hands  of  a  bad  man :  vet  he  had  the  art  to  silence  envy ; 

*  Pietro  Grimani  died  1752.  He  was  elected  Doge  of  Venice  in 
1741.  and  was  succeeded  by  Francesco  Loredano. 


VARIOUS     LETTERS.  367 

and  I  never  once  heard  an  objection  to  his  character,  or  even 
an  insinuation  to  his  disadvantage.  I  attribute  this  peculiar 
happiness  to  be  owing  to  the  sincere  benevolence  of  his  heart, 
joined  with  an  easy  cheerfulness  of  temper,  which  made  him 
agreeable  to  all  companies,  and  a  blessing  to  all  his  depend- 
ents. Authority  appeared  so  humble  in  him,  no  one  wished  it 
less,  except  himself,  who  would  sometimes  lament  the  weight 
of  it,  as  robbing  him  too  much  of  the  conversation  of  his 
friends  in  which  he  placed  his  chief  delight,  being  so  little  am- 
bitious that,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  far  from  caballing  to 
gain  that  elevation  to  which  he  was  raised,  he  would  have  re- 
fused it,  if  he  did  not  look  upon  the  acceptance  of  it  as  a 
duty  due  to  his  country. 


Paris  and  London  in  1718. — In  general,  I  think  Paris  has 
the  advantage  of  Lon  Ion,  in  the  neat  pavement  of  the  streets, 
and  the  regular  lighting  of  them  at  nights,  and  in  the  propor- 
tion of  the  streets,  the  houses  being  all  built  of  stone,  and 
most  of  those  belonging  to  people  of  quality  being  beautified 
by  gardens.  But  we  certainly  may  boast  of  a  town  very  near 
twice  as  large ;  and  when  I  have  said  that,  I  know  nothing 
else  we  surpass  it  in. 

The  Ruling  Passion. — I  arrived  this  morning  at  Dover, 
after  being  tossed  a  whole  night  in  a  packet-boat,  in  so  violent 
a  manner  that  the  master,  considering  the  weakness  of  his 
vessel,  thought  it  proper  to  remove  the  mail,  and  give  us  notice 
of  the  danger.  We  called  a  little  fishing-boat,  which  could 
hardly  make  up  to  us ;  while  all  the  people  on  board  us  were 
crying  to  heaven.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  one's  self  in  a  scene 
of  greater  horror  than  on  such  an  occasion  ;  and  yet,  shall  1 
own  it  to  you  ?  though  I  was  not  at  all  willing  to  be  drowned, 
I  could  not  forbear  being  entertained  at  the  double  distress  of  a 
fellow-passenger.  She  was  an  English  lady  that  I  had  met  at 
Calais,  who  desired  me  to  let  her  go  over  with  me  in  my  cabin. 
She  had  bought  a  fine  point-head,  which  she  was  contriving  to 


368  SELECTIONS     FROM 

conceal  from  the  Custom-bouse  officers.  When  the  wind  grew 
high,  and  our  little  vessel  tracked,  she  fell  very  heartily  to  hei 
prayers,  and  thought  wholly  of  her  soul.  When  it  seemed  to 
abate,  she  returned  to  the  worldly  care  of  her  head-dress,  and 
addressed  herself  to  me :  "  Dear  mada?n,  will  you  take  care 
of  this  point  ?  if  it  should  be  lost  !  Ah,  Lord,  we  shall  all  be 
lost ! — Lord  have  mercy  on  my  soul  ! — Pray,  madam,  take 
care  of  this  head-dress  /" 


To  See  is  to  Know. — The  description  of  a  face  or  figure  is 
a  needless  thing,  as  it  never  conveys  a  true  idea  ;  it  only  grati- 
fies the  imagination  with  a  fantastic  one  until  the  real  one  is 
seen.  So,  my  dear,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  form  a  true  notion 
of  the  divine  forms  and  features  of  the  Venus  and  Antinous, 
come  to  Florence. 


La  Trappe. — Between  Bologna  and  Florence  I  went  out 
of  my  road  to  visit  the  monastery  of  La  Trappe,  which  is  of 
French  origin,  and  one  of  the  most  austere  and  self-denying 
orders  I  know  of.  In  this  gloomy  retreat  it  gave  me  pain  to 
observe  those  austere  men,  who  have  devoutly  reduced  them- 
selves to  a  worse  condition  than  that  of  the  beasts.  Folly, 
you  see,  is  the  lot  of  humanity,  whether  it  arises  in  the  flowery 
paths  of  pleasure  or  the  thorny  ones  of  an  ill-judged  devo- 
tion. But  of  the  two  sorts  of  fools,  I  shall  always  think  that 
the  merry  one  has  the  most  eligible  fate ;  and  I  can  not  well 
form  a  notion  of  that  spiritual  and  extatic  joy  that  is  mixed 
with  sighs,  groans,  hunger,  and  thirst,  and  the  other  compli- 
cated miseries  of  monastic  discipline.  It  is  a  strange  way  of 
going  to  work  for  happiness  to  excite  an  enmity  between  soui 
and  body,  which  Nature  and  Providence  have  designed  to  live 
together  in  union  and  friendship,  and  which  we  can  not  separ- 
ate like  man  and  wife  when  they  happen  to  disagree.  The 
profound  silence  that  is  enjoined  upon  the  monks  of  La  Trappe, 
is  a  singular  circumstance  of  their  unsociable  and  unnatural 
discipline;    and  were  this  injunction  never  to  bo  dispensed 


VARIOUS     LETTERS.  3G9 

with,  it  would  be  needless  to  visit  them  in  any  other  charac- 
ter than  as  a  collection  of  statues ;  but  the  superior  of  the 
convent  suspended  in  our  favor  that  rigorous  law,  and  allowed 
one  of  the  mutes  to  converse  with  me,  and  answer  a  few  dis- 
creet questions.  He  told  me  that  the  monks  of  this  order  in 
France  are  still  more  austere  than  those  of  Italy,  as  they  never 
taste  wine,  flesh,  fish,  or  eggs ;  but  live  entirely  upon  vegeta- 
bles. The  story  that  is  told  of  the  institution  of  this  ordei  is 
remarkable,  and  is  well  attested,  if  my  information  be  good. 
Its  founder  was  a  French  nobleman,  whose  name  was  Bouthil- 
lier  de  Ranee,  a  man  of  pleasure  and  gallantry,  who  was 
converted  into  the  deepest  gloom  of  devotion  by  the  following 
incident :  His  affairs  obliged  him  to  absent  himself,  for  some 
time,  from  a  lady  with  whom  he  had  lived  in  the  most  inti- 
mate and  tender  connections  of  successful  love.  At  his  re- 
turn to  Paris,  he  proposed  to  surprise  her  agreeably,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  to  satisfy  his  own  impatient  desire  of  seeing 
her,  by  going  directly  and  without  ceremony  to  her  apart- 
ment by  a  back  stair,  which  he  was  well  acquainted  with  : 
but  think  of  the  spectacle  that  presented  itself  to  him  at  his 
entrance  into  the  chamber  that  had  so  often  been  the  scene 
of  love's  highest  raptures !  his  mistress  dead — dead  of  the 
small-pox — disfigured  beyond  expression — a  loathsome  mass 
of  putrid  matter — and  the  surgeon  separating  the  head  from 
the  body,  because  the  coffin  had  been  made  too  short !  He 
stood  for  a  moment  motionless  in  amazement,  and  filled  with 
horror — and  then  retired  from  the  world,  shut  himself  up  in 
the  convent  of  La  Trappe,  where  he  passed  the  remainder  of 
his  days. 

Free  Towns. — I  have  already  passed  a  large  part  of  Ger- 
many, have  seen  all  that  is  remarkable  in  Cologne,  Frankfort, 
Wurtsburg,  and  this  place.  'Tis  impossible  not  to  observe 
the  difference  between  the  free  towns  and  those  under  the 
government  of  absolute  princes,  a3  all  the  little  sovereigns  of 
Germany  are.     In  the  first,  there  appears  an  air  of  commerce 

16* 


370  SELECTIONS     FROM 

and  plenty.  The  streets  are  well  built,  and  full  of  people, 
neatly  and  plainly  dressed.  The  shops  are  loaded  with  mer- 
chandise, and  the  commonalty  are  clean  and  cheerful.  In  the 
other  you  see  a  sort  of  shabby  finery,  a  number  of  dirty  peo- 
ple of  quality  tawdered  out ;  narrow  nasty  streets,  out  of  re- 
pair, wretchedly  thin  of  inhabitants,  and  above  half  of  the 
common  sort  asking  alms.  I  can  not  help  fancying  one  under 
the  figure  of  a  clean  Dutch  citizen's  wife,  and  the  other  like  a 
poor  town  lady  of  pleasure,  painted  and  ribboned  out  in  her 
head-dress,  with  tarnished  silver-laced  shoes,  a  ragged  under- 
petticoat,  a  miserable  mixture  of  vice  and  poverty. 


Sumptuary  Laws. — They  have  sumptuary  laws  in  this 
town,  which  distinguish  their  rank  by  their  dress,  prevent  the 
excess  which  ruins  so  many  other  cities,  and  has  a  more  agree- 
able effect  to  the  eye  of  a  stranger  than  our  fashions.  I  think 
after  the  Archbishop  of  Cambray  having  declared  for  them,  I 
need  not  be  ashamed  to  own  that  I  wish  these  laws  were  in 
force  in  other  parts  of  the  world.  When  one  considers  im- 
partially the  merit  of  a  rich  suit  of  clothes  in  most  places,  the 
respect  and  the  smiles  of  favor  it  procures,  not  to  speak  of  the 
envy  and  the  sighs  it  occasions  (which  is  very  often  the  prin- 
pal  charm  to  the  wearer),  one  is  forced  to  confess  that  there  is 
need  of  an  uncommon  understanding  to  resist  the  temptation 
of  pleasing  friends  and  mortifying  rivals  ;  and  that  it  is  natu- 
ral to  young  people  to  fall  into  a  folly  which  betrays  them  to 
that  want  of  money  which  is  the  source  of  a  thousand  base- 
nesses. What  numbers  of  men  have  begun  the  world  with 
generous  inclinations  that  have  afterward  been  the  instru- 
ments of  bringing  misery  on  a  whole  people,  being  led  by 
vain  expense  into  debts  that  they  could  clear  no  other  way 
but  by  the  forfeit  of  their  honor,  and  which  they  never  could 
have  contracted  if  the  respect  the  many  pay  to  habits  was  fixed 
by  law  only  to  a  particular  color  or  cut  of  plain  cloth  !  These 
reflections  draw  after  them  others  that  are  too  melancholy. 


VARIOUS     LETTERS.  37l 

French  Ladies  in  1748. — A  propos  of  countenances,  1 
must  tell  you  something  of  the  French  ladies  ;  I  have  seen  al 

the  beauties,  and  such (I  can't  help  making  use  of  the 

coarse  word)  nauseous  creatures  !  so  fantastically  absurd  in 
their  dress !  so  monstrously  unnatural  in  their  paints !  theii 
hair  cut  short,  and  curled  round  their  faces,  and  so  loaded  with 
powder  that  it  makes  it  look  like  white  wool !  and  on  their 
cheeks  to  their  chins,  unmercifully  laid,  on  a  shining  red  japan, 
that  glistens  in  a  most  flaming  manner,  so  that  they  seem  to 
have  no  resemblance  to  human  faces.  I  am  apt  to  believe 
that  they  took  the  first  hint  of  their  dress  from  a  fair  sheep 
newly  ruddled.  "lis  with  pleasure  I  recollect  my  dear  pretty 
countrywomen  :  and  if  I  was  writing  to  any  body  else  I 
should  say  that  these  grotesque  daubers  give  me  still  a  higher 
esteem  of  the  natural  charms  of  dear  Lady  Rich's  auburn 
hair,  and  the  lively  colors  of  her  unsullied  complexion. 


Gaming. — Play  is  the  general  plague  of  Europe.  I  know 
no  corner  of  it  entirely  free  from  the  infection.  I  do  not 
doubt  but  that  the  familiarities  of  the  gaming-table  contribute 
very  much  to  that  decay  of  politeness  of  which  you  com- 
plain; for  the  pouting  and  quarrels,  which  naturally  arise 
from  disputes  there,  must  put  an  end  to  all  complaisance,  or 
even  good-will  toward  each  other. 


Conversation. — There  are  many  in  the  world  incapable  of 
any  other  sort  of  conversation  except  that  of  remarking  the 
mistakes  of  others,  and  are  very  often  so  much  mistaken  them- 
selves they  blame  the  most  praiseworthy  actions,  and  are  so  un- 
acquainted with  virtue  they  do  not  know  it  when  they  see  it. 


The  World  a  Century  Ago. — The  world  is  so  corrupt 
it  is  difficult  to  meet  with  honesty  in  any  station,  and  such 
good  hearts  as  yours,  which  are  not  naturally  inclined  to  sus- 
picion, are  often  liable  to  be  imposed  on. 


372  SELECTIONS     FROM 

Life  at  Twickenham. — I  am  now  at  the  same  distance 
from  London  that  you  are  from  Paris,  and  could  fall  into 
solitary  amusements  with  a  good  deal  of  taste ;  but  I  resist 
it  as  a  temptation  of  Satan,  and  rather  turn  my  endeavors 
to  make  the  world  as  agreeable  to  me  as  I  can,  which  is  the 
true  philosophy  ;  that  of  despising  it  is  of  no  use  but  to 
hasten  wrinkles.  I  ride  a  good  deal,  and  have  got  a  horse 
superior  to  any  two-legged  animal,  he  being  -without  a  fault. 
I  work  like  an  angel.  I  receive  visits  upon  idle  days,  and  I 
shade  my  life  as  I  do  my  tent-stitch,  that  is,  make  as  easy 
transitions  as  I  can  from  business  to  pleasure  ;  the  one  would 
be  too  flaring  and  gaudy  without  some  dark  shades  of  t'  other ; 
and  if  I  worked  altogether  in  the  grave  colors,  you  know 
'twould  be  quite  dismal.  Miss  Skerret  is  in  the  house  with 
me,  and  Lady  Stafford  has  taken  a  lodging  at  Richmond.  As 
their  ages  are  different,  and  both  agreeable  in  their  kind,  I 
laugh  with  the  one,  or  reason  with  the  other,  as  I  happen  to 
be  in  a  gay  or  serious  humor  ;  and  I  manage  my  friends  with 
such  a  strong,  yet  with  a  gentle  hand,  that  they  are  both 
willing  to  do  whatever  I  have  a  mind  to. 


The  "Wasp  of  Twickenham.* — The  word  malignity,  and  a 
passage  in  your  letter,  call  to  my  mind  the  wicked  wasp  of 
Twickenham.  His  lies  affect  me  now  no  more  ;  they  will  be 
all  as  much  despised  as  the  story  of  the  seraglio  and  the 
handkerchief  of  which  I  am  persuaded  he  was  the  only  in- 
ventor. That  man  has  a  malignant  and  ungenerous  heart ; 
and  he  is  base  enough  to  assume  the  mask  of  a  moralist,  in 
order  to  decry  human  nature,  and  to  give  a  decent  vent  to  hia 
hatred  of  man  and  woman  kind. 


Lord  Bute. — Lord  Butef  has  attained  office  by  a  very  un- 
common road  :  I  mean  an  acknowledged  honor  and  probity. 

*  Pope. 

f  In  the  last  of  the  letters  of  the  Honorable  Horace  Walpole  to  Sir 
EL  Mann,  dated  October  28,  1760,  an  account  is  given  of  K:ng  George 


VARIOUS     LETTERS.  3*73 

I  have  but  one  short  instruction  (pardon  the  word)  to  give  on 
his  account ;  that  he  will  never  forget  the  real  interest  of 
Prince  and  People  can  not  be  divided,  and  are  almost  as 
closely  united  as  that  of  soul  and  body.  I  could  preach  long 
on  this  subject,  but  I  ought  to  consider  your  time  is  now 
fully  taken  up,  and  you  can  have  no  leisure  for  reading  my 
tedious  letters.  I  shall  henceforward  relinquish  the  motherly 
prerogative  I  have  hitherto  indulged,  of  tiring  your  patience 
with  long  dissertations. 


Useful  Knowledge. — I  congratulate  my  granddaughters 
on  being  born  in  an  age  so  much  enlightened.  Sentiments 
are  certainly  extremely  silly,  and  only  qualify  young  people 
to  be  the  bubbles  of  all  their  acquaintance.  I  do  not  doubt 
the  frequency  of  assemblies  has  introduced  a  more  enlarged 
way  of  thinking ;  it  is  a  kind  of  public  education,  which  I 
have  always  thought  as  necessary  for  girls  as  for  boys.  A 
woman  married  at  five-and-tweuty,  from  under  the  eye  of  a 
strict  parent,  is  commonly  as  ignorant  as  she  was  at  five,  and 
no  more  capable  of  avoiding  the  snares,  and  struggling  with 
the  difficulties  she  will  infallibly  meet  with  in  the  commerce 
of  the  world.  The  knowledge  of  mankind  (the  most  useful 
of  all  knowledge)  can  only  be  acquired  by  conversing  with 
them.  Books  are  so  far  from  giving  that  instruction,  they  fill 
the  head  with  a  set  of  wrong  notions,  from  whence  spring 
the  tribes  of  Clarissas,  Harriots,  etc.     Yet  such  was  the  method 

the  Second's  death,  on  the  Friday  preceding  the  27th,  and  mention  is 
made  of  the  Duke  of  York  and  Lord  Bute  having  been  named  by  the 
new  king  to  be  ''of  the  cabinet  council,"  which  was  probably  the  sit- 
uation to  which  Lady  Mary  refers  in  the  beginning  of  this  letter.  He 
had  been  for  some  time  before  Groom  of  the  Stole  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  and  continued  in  that  office  with  the  new  king  till  he  was  ap- 
pointed Secretary  of  State,  on  the  resignation  of  Lord  Holdernesse,  on 
the  25th  of  March,  1761.  On  the  resignation  of  the  Duke  of  New- 
castle, Lord  Bute  became,  on  the  26th  May,  1762,  first  Lord  of  the 
Treasury,  which  office  he  resigned  on  the  8th  April,  1763,  and  never 
afterward  took  an  active  part  in  public  life. 


374  SELECTIONS     FROM 

of  education  when  I  was  in  England,  which  I  had  it  not  in  my 
power  to  correct ;  the  young  will  always  adopt  the  opinions 
of  their  companions  rather  than  the  advice  of  their  mothers. 


No  One  Happy  in  this  Life. — I  believe,  like  all  others  of 
your  age,  you  have  long  been  convinced  there  is  no  real  hap- 
piness to  be  found  or  expected  in  this  world.  You  have  seen 
a  court  near  enough  to  know  neither  riches  nor  power  can 
secure  it ;  and  all  human  endeavors  after  felicity  are  as  childish 
as  running  after  sparrows  to  lay  salt  on  their  tails :  but  I  ought 
to  give  you  another  information,  which  can  only  be  learned 
by  experience,  that  liberty  is  an  idea  equally  chimerical,  and 
has  no  real  existence  in  this  life.  I  can  truly  assure  you,  I 
have  never  been  so  little  mistress  of  my  own  time  and  actions 
as  since  I  have  lived  alone.  Mankind  is  placed  in  a  state  of 
dependency,  not  only  on  one  another  (which  all  are  in  some 
degree),  but  so  many  inevitable  accidents  thwart  our  designs, 
and  limit  our  best-laid  projects.  The  poor  efforts  of  our  ut- 
most prudence,  and  political  schemes,  appear,  I  fancy,  in  the 
eyes  of  some  superior  beings,  like  the  pecking  of  a  young  lin- 
net to  break  a  wire  cage,  or  the  climbing  of  a  squirrel  in  a 
hoop  ;  the  moral  needs  no  explanation.  Let  us  sing  as  cheer- 
fully as  we  can  in  our  impenetrable  confinement,  and  crack 
our  nuts  with  pleasure  from  the  little  store  that  is  allowed  us. 


Solitude. — People  mistake  very  much  in  placing  peace  in 
woods  and  shades,  for  I  believe  solitude  puts  people  out  of 
humor,  and  makes  them  disposed  to  quarrel,  or  there  would 
not  be  so  many  disputes  about  religion  and  liberty,  by  crea- 
tures that  never  understood  the  first,  nor  have,  or  are  likely 
to  have,  a  taste  of  the  latter: 

Crushed  by  the  stint  of  thirty  pounds  a  year. 


Lady  Bute  as  a  Mother. — The  conclusion  of  your  letter 
has  touched  me  very  much.  I  sympathize  with  you,  my  dear 
child,  in  all  the  concern  you  express  for  your  family :  you  may 


VARIOUS     LETTERS.  3*75 

remember  I  represented  it  to  you,  before  you  were  married ; 
but  that  is  one  of  the  sentiments  it  is  impossible  to  compre- 
hend till  it  is  felt.  A  mother  only  knows  a  mother's  fondness. 
Indeed  the  pain  so  overbalances  the  pleasure  that  I  believe  if 
it  could  be  thoroughly  understood,  there  would  be  no  mothers 
at  all.  However,  take  care  that  the  anxiety  for  the  future  does 
not  take  fr^m  you  the  comforts  you  may  enjoy  in  the  present 
hour  :  it  is  all  that  is  properly  ours ;  and  yet  such  is  the  weak- 
ness  of  humanity,  we  commonly  lose  what  is,  either  by  regret- ! 
ting  the  past,  or  disturbing  our  minds  with  fear  of  what  may 
be.  You  have  many  blessings  ;  a  husband  you  love,  and  who 
behaves  well  to  you,  agreeable  hopeful  children,  a  handsome 
convenient  house,  with  pleasant  gardens,  in  a  good  air  and  fine 
situation,  which  I  place  among  the  most  solid  satisfactions  of 
life.  The  truest  Avisdom  is  that  which  diminishes  to  us  what 
is  displeasing,  and  turns  our  thoughts  to  the  advantages  which 
we  possess.  I  can  assure  you  I  give  no  precepts  I  do  not  daily 
practice.  How  often  do  I  fancy  to  myself  the  pleasure  I  should 
take  in  seeing  you  in  the  midst  of  the  little  people ;  and  how 
severe  do  I  then  think  my  destiny  that  denies  me  that  happi- 
ness !  I  endeavor  to  comfort  myself  by  reflecting  that  we 
should  certainly  have  perpetual  disputes  (if  not  quarrels)  con- 
cerning the  management  of  them ;  the  affection  of  a  grand- 
mother has  generally  a  tincture  of  dotage ;  you  would  say  I 
spoiled  them,  and  perhaps  not  be  much  in  the  wrong. 


Mankind  is  one  Species. — Mankind  is  every  where  the 
.same :  like  cherries  or  apples,  they  may  differ  in  size,  shape, 
or  color,  from  different  soils,  climates,  or  culture,  but  are  still 
essentially  the  same  species ;  and  the  little  black  wood  cherry 
is  not  nearer  akin  to  the  maydukes  that  are  served  at  great 
tables,  than  the  wild,  naked  negro,  to  the  figures  adorned  with 
coronets  and  ribbons.  This  observation  might  be  carried  yet 
further  :  all  animals  are  stimulated  by  the  same  passions,  and 
act  very  nearly  alike,  as  far  as  we  are  capable  of  observing 
them. 


376  SELECTIONS     FROM 

First  Impressions. — I  have  seldom  been  mistaken  in  my 
first  judgment  of  those  I  thought  it  worth  while  to  consider ; 
and  when  (which  has  happened  too  often)  flattery  or  the  per- 
suasion of  others  has  made  me  alter  it,  time  has  never  failed 
to  show  me  I  had  done  better  to  have  remained  fixed  in  my 
first  (which  is  ever  the  most  unprejudiced)  idea. 


Gardening. — I  am  really  as  fond  of  my  garden  as  a  young 
author  of  his  first  play  when  it  has  been  well  received  by  the 
town,  and  can  no  more  forbear  teasing  my  acquaintance  for 
their  approbation :  though  I  gave  you  a  long  account  of  it  lately, 
I  must  tell  you  that  I  have  made  two  little  terraces,  raised 
twelve  steps  each,  at  the  end  of  my  great  walk ;  they  are  just 
finished,  and  a  great  addition  to  the  beauty  of  my  garden.  I 
inclose  you  a  rough  draught  of  it,  drawn  (or  more  properly 
scrawled)  by  my  own  baud,  without  the  assistance  of  rule  or 
compasses,  as  you  will  easily  perceive.  I  have  mixed  in  my 
espaliers  as  many  rose  and  jasmin-trees  as  I  can  cram  in  ; 
and  in  the  squares  designed  for  the  use  of  the  kitchen,  have 
avoided  putting  any  thing  disagreeable  either  to  sight  or  smell, 
having  another  garden  below  for  cabbage,  onions,  garlic.  All 
the  walks  are  garnished  with  beds  of  flowers,  besides  the  par- 
terres, which  are  for  a  more  distinguished  sort.  I  have  neither 
brick  nor  stone  walls  :  all  my  fence  is  a  high  hedge,  mingled 
with  trees ;  but  fruit  is  so  plenty  in  this  countiy,  nobody 
thinks  it  worth  stealing.  Gardening  is  certainly  the  next 
amusement  to  reading;  and  as  my  sight  will  now  permit  me 
little  of  that,  I  am  glad  to  form  a  taste  that  can  give  me  so 
much  employment,  and  be  the  plaything  of  my  age,  now  my 
pen  and  needle  are  almost  useless  to  me. 

The  two  Pleasures  of  Life. — Between  you  and  me,  I 
think  there  are  but  two  pleasures  permitted  to  mortal  man, 
love  and  vengeance  ;  both  which  are  in  a  peculiar  manner  for- 
bidden to  us  wretches  who  are  condemned  to  petticoats. 
Even   vanity  itself,  of  which  you  daily  accuse   us,  is  the  sin 


VARIOUS     LETTERS. 


877 


against  the  Holy  Ghost  not  to  be  forgiven  in  this  world  or 
the  next. 

Our  sex's  weakness  you  expose  and  blame, 
Of  every  prating  fop  the  common  theme  ; 
Yet  from  this  weakness  you  suppose  is  due 
Sublimer  virtue  than  your  Cato  knew. 
Prom  whence  is  this  unjust  distinction  shown  ? 
Are  we  not  formed  with  passions  like  your  own  ? 
Nature  with  equal  fire  our  souls  endued ; 
Our  minds  as  lofty,  and  as  warm  our  blood. 
O'er  the  wide  world  your  wishes  you  pursue, 
The  change  is  justified  by  something  new; 
But  we  must  sigh  in  silence  and  be  true. 

How  the  great  Dr.  Swift  would  stare  at  this  vile  triplet . 


Destiny. — I  wish  I  knew  a  corner  of  the  world  inaccessible 
to  petit-maitres  and  fine  ladies.  I  verily  believed  when  I  left 
London  I  should  choose  my  own  company  for  the  remainder 
of  my  days ;  which  I  find  more  difficult  to  do  abroad  than  at 
home ;  and  with  humility  I  sighing  own, 

Some  stronger  power  eludes  the  sickly  will, 

Dashes  my  rising  hope  with  certain  ill ; 

And  makes  me  with  reflective  trouble  see, 

That  all  is  destined  that  I  fancied  free. 


Politics. — There  would  be  neither  party  nor  contest  in  the 
world,  if  all  people  thought  of  politics  with  the  same  indiffer- 
ence that  I  do  ;  but  I  find  by  experience  that  the  utmost  in- 
nocence and  strictest  silence  is  not  sufficient  to  guard  against 
suspicion,  and  I  am  looked  upon  here  as  capable  of  very  great 
designs,  at  the  same  time  that  I  am,  and  desire  to  be,  ignorant 
of  all  projects  whatever.  It  is  natural,  and  (I  think)  just,  to  wish 
well  to  one's  religion  and  country,  yet  as  I  can  serve  neither 
by  disputes,  I  am  content  to  pray  for  both  in  my  closet,  and 
avoid  all  subjects  of  controversy  as  much  as  I  can. 


A  Noble  Poet. — I  am  sorry  for  the  untimely  death  of  poor 
Lord  Cornbury ;  he  had  certainly  a  very  good  heart :  I  have 


378  SELECTIONS     FROM 

often  thought  it  great  pity  it  was  not  under  the  direction  of  a 
better  head.  I  had  lost  his  favor  some  time  before  I  left  En- 
gland on  a  pleasant  account.  He  came  to  me  one  morning 
with  a  hatful  of  paper,  which  he  desired  me  to  peruse,  and 
tell  him  my  sincere  opinion :  I  trembled  at  the  proposition, 
foreseeing  the  inevitable  consequence  of  this  confidence.  How- 
ever, I  was  not  so  barbarous  as  to  tell  him  that  his  verses  were 
extremely  stupid  (as  God  knows  they  were),  and  that  he  was 
no  more  inspired  with  the  spirit  of  poetry  than  that  of  proph- 
ecy. I  contented  myself  with  representing  to  him,  in  the 
mildest  terms,  that  it  was  not  the  business  of  a  man  of  quality 
to  turn  author,  and  that  he  should  confine  himself  to  the  ap- 
plause of  his  friends,  and  by  no  means  venture  on  the  press. 
He  seemed  to  take  this  advice  with  good-humor,  promised  to 
follow  it,  and  we  parted  without  any  dispute ;  but  alas !  he 
could  not  help  showing  his  performance  to  better  judges,  who, 
with  their  usual  candor  and  good  nature,  earnestly  exhorted 
him  to  oblige  the  world  with  this  instructive  piece,  which  was 
soon  after  published,  and  had  the  success  I  expected  from  it. 
Pope  persuaded  him,  poor  soul !  that  my  declaiming  against  it 
occasioned  the  ill  reception  it  met  with,  though  this  is  the  first 
time  I  ever  mentioned  it  in  my  life,  and  I  did  not  so  much  as 
guess  the  reason  I  heard  of  him  no  more,  till  a  few  days  before 
I  left  London.  I  accidentally  said  to  one  of  his  acquaintance, 
that  his  visits  to  me  were  at  an  end,  I  knew  not  why ;  and  I 
was  let  into  this  weighty  secret.  My  journey  prevented  all  ex- 
planation between  us,  and  perhaps  I  should  not  have  thought 
it  worth  any,  if  I  had  staid. 


A  Rich  Widow. — I  pity  poor  Lady  D ,*  who,  perhaps, 

thinks  herself  at  present  an  object  of  envy :  she  will  be  soon  un- 
deceived :  no  rich  widow  can  marry  on  prudential  motives  ;  and 
where  passion  is  only  on  one  side,  every  marriage  must  be  miser- 

*  Lady  Dalkeith,  eldest  daughter  of  John  Duke  of  Argyle,  widow  of 
Francis  Earl  of  Dalkeith,  and  mother  by  him  of  Henry  Duke  of  Buc- 
cleuch ;  married  secondly  the  famous  Charles  Townshend. 


VARIOUS     LETTERS. 


379 


able.  If  she  thought  justly,  she  would  know  that  no  man  ever 
was  in  love  with  a  woman  of  forty,  since  the  deluge  :  a  boy  may 
be  so :  but  that  blaze  of  straw  only  lasts  till  he  is  old  enough  to 
distinguish  between  youth  and  age,  which  generally  happens 
about  seventeen :  till  that  time  the  whole  sex  appears  angelic 

to  a  warm  constitution ;  but  as  that  is  not  Mr.  T 's  case,  all 

she  can  hope  is  a  cold  complaisance,  founded  on  gratitude, 
which  is  the  most  uncertain  of  all  foundations  for  a  lasting 
union.  I  know  not  how  it  is,  whether  obligers  are  apt  to  exact 
too  large  returns,  or  whether  human  pride  naturally  hates  to 
remember  obligation,  but  I  have  seldom  seen  friendships  con- 
tinue long  where  there  has  been  great  benefits  conferred ;  and 
I  should  think  it  the  severest  suffering  to  know  I  was  a  burden 
on  the  good-nature  of  a  man  I  loved,  even  if  I  met  a  mind  so 
generous  as  to  dissemble  a  disgust  which  he  could  not  help 
feeling. 

Trifles. — I  saw  Mrs.  Bridgeman  the  other  day,  who  is 
much  pleased  with  a  letter  she  has  had  the  honor  to  receive 
from  your  ladyship :  she  broke  out,  "  Really  Lady  Pom/ret 
writes  finely  /"  I  very  readily  joined  in  her  opinion  ;  she  con- 
tinued, "  Oh,  so  neat,  no  interlineations,  and  such  proper  dis- 
tances /"  This  manner  of  praising  your  style  made  me  reflect 
on  the  necessity  of  attention  to  trifles,  if  one  would  please  in 
general ;  a  rule  terribly  neglected  by  me  formerly ;  yet  it  is 
certain  that  some  men  are  as  much  struck  with  the  careless 
twist  of  a  tippet  as  others  are  by  a  pair  of  fine  eyes. 


Amusements  in  1738. — Public  places  flourish  more  than 
ever :  we  have  assemblies  for  every  day  in  the  week,  besides 
court,  operas,  and  masquerades ;  with  youth  and  money,  'tis 
certainly  possible  to  be  very  well  diverted  in  spite  of  malice 
and  ill-nature,  though  they  are  more  and  more  powerful  every 
day.  For  my  part,  as  it  is  my  established  opinion  that  this 
globe  of  ours  is  no  better  than  a  Holland  cheese,  and  the  walk- 
ers about  in  it  mites,  I  possess  my  mind  in  patience,  let  what 


380  SELECTIONS     FROM 

will  happen,  and  should  feel  tolerably  easy  though  a  great  rat 
came  and  eat  half  of  it  up. 


Disappointments  in  Friendship. — The  most  tender  disposi- 
tion grows  callous  by  miserable  experience :  I  look  upon  it  as 
the  reason  why  so  many  old  people  leave  immense  wealth,  in 
a  lump,  to  heirs  they  neither  love  nor  esteem ;  and  others,  like 
Lord  Sundon,  leave  it,  at  random,  to  they  know  not  who.  He 
was  not  a  covetous  man,  but  had  seen  so  little  merit,  and  was 
so  well  acquainted  with  the  vices  of  mankind,  I  believe  he 
thought  there  was  none  among  them  deserved  any  particular 
distinction.  I  have  passed  a  long  life,  and  may  say,  with  truth, 
have  endeavored  to  purchase  friends ;  accident  has  put  it  in  my 
power  to  confer  great  benefits,  yet  I  never  met  with  any  return, 
nor  indeed  any  true  affection,  but  from  dear  Lady  Oxford,  who 
owed  me  nothing. 


Shall  the  Mother  Nurse  her  Child  ? — You  ask  my  ad- 
vice on  this  matter ;  and  to  give  it  you  frankly,  I  really  think 
that  Mr. 's  demand  is  unreasonable,  as  his  wife's  constitu- 
tion is  tender,  and  her  temper  fretful.  A  true  philosopher  would 
consider  these  circumstances,  but  a  pedant  is  always  throwing 
his  system  in  your  face,  and  applies  it  equally  to  all  things, 
times,  and  places,  just  like  a  tailor  who  would  make  a  coat  out 
of  his  own  head,  without  any  regard  to  the  bulk  or  figure  of 
the  person  that  must  wear  it.  All  those  fine-spun  arguments 
that  he  has  drawn  from  nature  to  stop  your  mouths,  weigh,  I 
must  own  to  you,  but  very  little  with  me.  This  same  nature 
is  indeed  a  specious  word,  nay,  there  is  a  great  deal  in  it,  if  it 
is  properly  understood  and  applied,  but  I  can  not  bear  to  hear 
people  using  it  to  justify  what  common  sense  must  disavow. 
Is  not  nature  modified  by  art  in  many  things  ?  Was  it  not 
designed  to  be  so  ?  And  is  it  not  happy  for  human  society 
that  it  is  so  ?  Would  you  like  to  see  your  husband  let  his 
beard  grow,  until  he  would  be  obliged  to  put  the  end  of  it  in 
his  pocket,  because  this  beard  is  the  gift  of  nature?     The  in- 


VARIOUS     LETTERS.  381 

stincts  of  nature  point  out  neither  tailors,  nor  weavers,  nor 
niantua-makers,  nor  sempsters,  nor  milliners :  and  yet  I  am  very- 
glad  that  we  don't  run  naked  like  the  Hottentots.  But  not  to 
wander  from  the  subject — I  grant  that  nature  has  furnished 
the  mother  with  milk  to  nourish  her  child ;  but  I  maintain  at 
the  same  time,  that  if  she  can  find  better  milk  elsewhere,  she 
ought  to  prefer  it  without  hesitation.  I  don't  see  why  she 
should  have  more  scruple  to  do  this  than  her  husband  has  to 
leave  the  clear  fountain,  which  nature  gave  him,  to  quench  his 

thirst,  for  stout  October,  port,  or  claret.     Indeed,  if  Mrs. 

was  a  buxom,  sturdy  woman,  who  lived  on  plain  food,  took 
regular  exercise,  enjoyed  proper  returns  of  rest,  and  was  free 
from  violent  passions  (which  you  and  I  know  is  not  the  case), 
she  might  be  a  good  nurse  for  her  child  ;  but,  as  matters  stand, 
I  do  verily  think  that  the  milk  of  a  good  comely  cow,  who 
feeds  quietly  in  her  meadow,  never  devours  ragouts,  nor  drinks 
ratafia,  nor  frets  at  quadrille,  nor  sits  up  till  three  in  the  morn- 
ing elated  with  gain  or  dejected  with  loss,  I  do  think  that  the 
milk  of  such  a  cow,  or  of  a  nurse  that  came  as  near  it  as  pos- 
sible, would  be  likely  to  nourish  the  young  squire  much  better 
than  hers.  If  it  be  true  that  the  child  sucks  in  the  mother's 
passions  with  her  milk,  this  is  a  strong  argument  in  favor  of 
the  cow,  unless  you  may  be  afraid  that  the  young  squire  may 
become  a  calf ;  but  how  many  calves  are  there  both  in  state 
and  church,  who  have  been  brought  up  with  their  mother's 
milk! 


Women. — If  I  were  a  divine  I  would  remember  that  in 
their  first  creation  they  were  designed  as  a  help  for  the  other 
sex ;  and  nothing  was  ever  made  incapable  of  the  end  of  its 
creation.  'Tis  true,  the  first  lady  had  so  little  experience  that 
she  hearkened  to  the  persuasion  of  an  impertinent  dangler ; 
and,  if  you  mind,  he  succeeded,  by  persuading  her  that  she 
was  not  so  wise  as  she  should  be. 

Men  that  have  not  sense  enough  to  show  any  superiority  in   \ 
their  arguments,  hope  to  be  yielded  to  by  a.  faith,  that,  as  they 


382  SELECTIONS     FROM 

are  men,  all  the  reason  that  has  been  allotted  to  human  kind  has 
fallen  to  their  share.  I  am  seriously  of  another  opinion.  As 
much  greatness  of  mind  may  be  shown  in  submission  as  in  com- 
mand, and  some  women  have  suffered  a  life  of  hardships  with 
as  much  philosojmy  as  Cato  traversed  the  deserts  of  Africa, 
and  without  that  support  the  view  of  glory  offered  him,  which 
is  enough  for  the  human  mind  that  is  touched  with  it  to  go 
through  any  toil  or  danger.  But  this  is  not  the  situation  of  a 
woman,  whose  virtue  must  only  shine  to  her  own  recollection, 
and  loses  that  name  when  it  is  ostentatiously  exposed  to  the 
world.  A  lady  who  has  performed  her  duty  as  a  daughter,  a 
wife,  and  a  mother,  raises  in  me  as  much  veneration  as  Socrates 
or  Xenophon  ;  and  much  more  than  I  would  pay  either  to  Julius 
Cccsar  or  Cardinal  Mazarine,  though  the  first  was  the  most 
famous  enslaver  of  his  country,  and  the  last  the  most  success- 
ful plunderer  of  his  master. 

A  woman  really  virtuous,  in  the  utmost  extent  of  this  ex- 
pression, has  virtue  of  a  purer  kind  than  any  philosopher  has 
ever  shown ;  since  she  knows,  if  she  has  sense,  and  without  it 
there  can  be  no  virtue,  that  mankind  is  too  much  prejudiced 
against  her  sex  to  give  her  any  degree  of  that  fame  which  is 
so  sharp  a  spur  to  their  great  actions.  I  have  some  thoughts 
of  exhibiting  a  set  of  pictures  of  such  meritorious  ladies,  where 
I  shall  say  nothing  of  the  fire  of  their  eyes,  or  the  pureness  of 
their  complexions,  but  give  them  such  praises  as  befit  a  rational 
sensible  being :  virtues  of  choice,  and  not  beauties  of  acci- 
dent. I  beg  they  would  not.  so  far  mistake  me  as  to  think 
I  am  undervaluing  their  charms :  a  beautiful  mind,  in  a 
beautiful  body,  is  one  of  the  finest  objects  shown  us  by 
nature.  I  would  not  have  them  place  so  much  value  on  a 
quality  that  can  be  only  useful  to  one  as  to  neglect  that  which 
may  be  of  benefit  to  thousands,  by  precept  or  by  example. 
There  will  be  no  occasion  of  amusing  them  with  trifles  when 
they  consider  themselves  capable  of  not  only  making  the  most 
amiable,  but  the  most  estimable,  figures  in  life.  Begin,  then, 
ladies,  by  paying  those  authors  with  scorn  and  contempt,  who 


VARIOUS     LETTERS.  383 

with  a  sneer  of  affected  admiration,  would  throw  you  below 
the  dignity  of  the  human  species. 


Ladies  in  the  House  of  Lords. — At  the  last  warm  debate 
in  the  House  of  Lords,  it  was  unanimously  resolved  there 
should  be  no  crowd  of  unnecessary  auditors ;  consequently  the 
fair  sex  were  excluded,  and  the  gallery  destined  to  the  sole 
use  of  the  House  of  Commons.  Notwithstanding  which  de- 
termination, a  tribe  of  dames  resolved  to  show  on  this  occasion, 
that  neither  men  nor  laws  could  resist  them.  These  heroines 
were  Lady  Huntingdon,*  the  Duchess  of  Queensbury,  the 
Duchess  of  Ancaster,  Lady  Westmoreland,  Lady  Cobham, 
Lady  Charlotte  Edwin,  Lady  Archibald  Hamilton  and  her 
daughter,  Mrs.  Scott,  and  Mrs.  Pendarvis,  and  Lady  Frances 
Saunderson.  I  am  thus  particular  in  their  names  since  I  look 
upon  them  to  be  the  boldest  assertors,  and  most  resigned  suf- 
ferers for  liberty  I  ever  read  of.  They  presented  themselves  at 
the  door  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  where  Sir  William 
Saunderson  respectfully  informed  them  the  chancellor  had 
made  an  order  against  their  admittance.  The  Duchess  of 
Queensbury,  as  head  of  the  squadron,  pished  at  the  ill-breeding 
of  a  mere  lawyer,  and  desired  him  to  let  them  up  stairs  pri- 
vately. After  some  modest  refusals  he  swore  by  G —  he 
would  not  let  them  in.  Her  grace,  with  a  noble  warmth,  an- 
swered by  G —  they  would  come  in,  in  spite  of  the  chan- 
cellor and  the  whole  House.  This  being  reported,  the  peer* 
resolved  to  starve  them  out;  .an  order  was  made  that  the 
doors  should  be  fastened.  These  Amazons  now  showed  them- 
selves qualified  for  the  duty  even  of  foot-soldiers ;  they  stood 
there  till  five  in  the  afternoon,  without  either  sustenance  or 
evacuation,  every  now  and  then  playing  vollies  of  thumps, 
kicks,  and  raps,  against  the  door,  with  so  much  violence  that 
the  speakers  in  the  House  were  scarce  heard.  When  the 
lords  were  not  to  be  conquered  by  this,  the  two  duchesses 

*  Lady  Huntingdon,  the  same  who  afterward  became  the  head,  the 
Countess  Matilda,  of  the  Whitfieldian  Methodists. 


384  SELECTIONS     FROM 

(very  well  apprised  of  the  use  of  stratagems  in  war)  commanded 
a  dead  silence  of  half  an  hour ;  and  the  chancellor,  who  thought 
this  a  certain  proof  of  their  absence,  (the  Commons  also  being 
very  impatient  to  enter),  gave  order  for  the  opening  of  the 
door  ;  upon  which  they  all  rushed  in,  pushed  aside  their  com- 
petitors, and  placed  themselves  in  the  front  rows  of  the  gal- 
lery. They  staid  there  till  after  eleven,  when  the  House 
rose  ;  and  during  the  debate  gave  applause,  and  showed  marks 
of  dislike,  not  only  by  smiles  and  winks  (which  have  always 
been  allowed  in  these  cases),  but  by  noisy  laughs  and  appar- 
ent contempts  ;  which  is  supposed  the  true  reason  why  poor 
Lord  Hervey  spoke  miserably.* 


Errors  in  Society. — Among  the  most  universal  errors,  I 
reckon  that  of  treating  the  weaker  sex  with  a  contempt  which 
has  a  very  bad  influence  on  their  conduct.  How  many  of 
them  think  it  excuse  enough  to  say  they  are  women,  to  indulge 
any  folly  that  comes  into  their  heads  !  This  renders  them 
useless  members  of  the  commonwealth,  and  only  burdensome 
to  their  own  families,  where  the  wise  husband  thinks  he  les- 
sens the  opinion  of  his  own  understanding,  if  he  at  any  time 
condescends  to  consult  his  wife's.  Thus,  what  reason  nature 
has  given  them  is  thrown  away,  and  a  blind  obedience  ex- 
pected from  them  by  all  their  ill-natured  masters ;  and,  on  the 
other  side,  as  blind  a  complaisance  shown  those  that  are  in- 
dulgent, who  say  often  that  women's  weakness  must  be  com- 
plied with,  and  it  is  a  vain  troublesome  attempt  to  make  them 
hear  reason. 

I  attribute  a  great  part  of  this  way  of  thinking,  which  is 
hardly  ever  controverted,  either  to  the  ignorance  of  authors, 
who  are  many  of  them  heavy  collegians,  that  have  never  been 
admitted  to  politer  conversations  than  those  of  their  bed-makersy 
or  to  the  design  of  selling  their  works,  which  is  generally  the  only 

*  The  debate  to  which  this  story  relates  must  have  been  that  of  May 
2,  1738,  on  the  depredations  of  the  Spaniards,  which  appears  to  have 
been  closed  by  a  speech  of  Lord  Hervey. — See  Pari.  Hist.  vol.  x.  p.  729. 


VARIOUS     LETT  E  US.  385 

view  of  writing,  without  any  regard  to  truth,  or  the  ill-conse- 
quences that  attend  the  propagation  of  wrong  notions.  A  paper 
smartly  wrote,  though  perhaps  only  some  old  conceits  dressed 
in  new  words,  either  in  rhyme  or  prose — I  say  rhyme,  for  I 
have  seen  no  verses  wrote  for  many  years — such  a  paper,  either 
to  ridicule  or  declaim  against  the  ladies,  is  very  welcome  to 
the  coffee-houses,  where  there  is  hardly  one  man  in  ten  but  fan- 
cies he  has  some  reason  or  other  to  curse  some  of  the  sex  most 
heartily.  Perhaps  his  sisters'  fortunes  are  to  run  away  with 
the  money  that  would  be  better  bestowed  at  the  groom- 
porter's  ;  or  an  old  mother,  good  for  nothing,  keeps  a  jointure 
from  a  hopeful  son,  that  wants  to  make  a  settlement  on  his 
mistress ;  or  a  handsome  young  fellow  is  plagued  with  a  wife, 
that  will  remain  alive,  to  hinder  his  running  away  with  a  great 
fortune,  having  two  or  three  of  them  in  love  with  him.  These 
are  serious  misfortunes  that  are  sufficient  to  exasperate  the 
mildest  tempers  to  a  contempt  of  the  sex ;  not  to  speak  of 
lesser  inconveniences,  which  are  very  provoking  at  the  time 
they  are  felt. 

Building. — Building  is  the  general  weakness  of  old  people ; 
I  have  had  a  twitch  of  it  myself,  though  certainly  it  is  the 
highest  absurdity,  and  as  sure  a  proof  of  dotage  as  pink-colored 
ribbons,  or  even  matrimony.  Nay,  perhaps,  there  is  more  to 
be  said  in  defense  of  the  last,  I  mean  in  a  childless  old  man ; 
he  may  prefer  a  boy  born  in  his  own  house,  though  he  knows  it 
is  not  his  own,  to  disrespectful  or  worthless  nephews  or  nieces. 
But  there  is  no  excuse  for  beginning  an  edifice  he  can  never 
mhabit,  or  probably  see  finished.  The  Duchess  of  Marlborough 
lsed  to  ridicule  the  vanity  of  it  by  saying  one  might  always 
^;e  apon  other  people's  follies :  yet  you  see  she  built  the  most 
ridiculous  house  I  ever  saw,  since  it  really  is  not  habitable, 
from  the  excessive  damps ;  so  true  it  is  the  things  that  we 
would  do,  those  we  do  not,  and  the  things  we  would  not  do, 
those  we  do  daily.  I  feel  in  myself  a  proof  of  this  assertion, 
being  much  against  my  will  at  Venice,  though  I  own  it  is  the 

17 


386       SELECTIONS     PROM     VARIOUS     LETTERS. 

only  great  town  where  I  can  properly  reside,  yet  here  I  find 
so  many  vexations  that,  in  spite  of  all  my  philosophy,  and 
(what  is  more  powerful)  my  phlegm,  I  am  oftener  out  of 
humor  than  among  my  plants  and  poultry  in  the  country. 


The  Effects  of  Age. — All  weaknesses  appear,  as  they  in- 
crease with  age.  I  am  afraid  all  humankind  are  born  with 
the  seeds  of  them,  though  they  may  be  totally  concealed,  and 
consequently  considerably  lessened  by  education  and  philoso- 
phy. I  have  endeavored  to  study  and  correct  myself;  and  as 
courage  was  a  favorite  virtue,  I  studied  to  seem  void  of  fear, 
and  I  believe  was  rather  esteemed  fool-hardy. 

I  am  now  grown  timorous,  and  inclined  to  low  spirits,  what- 
ever you  may  hear  to  the  contrary.  My  cheerfulness  is  like 
the  fire  kindled  in  brushwood,  which  makes  a  show,  but  is 
soon  turned  to  cold  ashes.  I  do  not,  like  Madame  Maintenon, 
grieve  about  the  decay  which  is  allotted  to  all  mortals,  but 
would  willingly  excuse  myself  to  you. 


How  to  Preserve  Youth. — I  wonder  with  what  conscience 
you  can  talk  to  me  of  your  being  an  old  woman;  I  beg 
I  may  hear  no  more  on't.  For  my  part,  I  pretend  to  be  as 
young  as  ever,  and  really  am  as  young  as  needs  to  be,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes.  I  attribute  all  this  to  your  living  so 
long  at  Chatton,  and  fancy  a  week  at  Paris  will  correct  such 
wild  imaginations,  and  set  things  in  a  better  light.  My  cure  for 
lowness  of  spirits  is  not  drinking  nasty  water,  but  galloping  all 
day,  and  a  moderate  glass  of  Champagne  at  night  in  good 
company  ;  and  I  believe  this  regimen,  closely  followed,  is  one 
of  the  most  wholesome  that  can  be  prescribed,  and  may  sa^e 
one  a  world  of  filthy  doses,  and  more  filthy  doctor's  fees  at  the 
year's  end. 


SUPPLEMENTARY  LETTERS 


TO 


THE    COUNTESS    OF    MAR* 


In  the  "  Letters  from  Horace  Walpole  to  Sir  Horace  Mann," 
lately  published,  and  which  were  edited  by  the  late  Lord 
Dover,  there  are  two  passages  relating  to  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu  which  require  some  notice,  in  order  that  the  real 
state  of  the  facts  to  which  they  refer  may  be  known,  as  far  as 
possible. 

The  first  of  these  is  to  be  found  in  Letter  231,  dated  Mistley, 
August  31,  1751,  and  is  in  these  words: — "Pray,  tell  me  if 
you  know  any  thing  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley :  we  have  an  ob- 
scure story  here  of  her  being  in  durance  in  the  Brescian  or 
the  Bergamesco ;  that  a  young  fellow  whom  she  set  out  with 
keeping  has  taken  it  into  his  head  to  keep  her  close  prisoner, 
not  permitting  her  to  write  or  receive  any  letters  but  what  he 
sees :  he  seems  determined,  if  her  husband  should  die,  not  to 

lose  her  as  the  Count lost  my  lady  0."    And  in  the  next 

letter  he  again  alludes  to  this  report. 

*  It  seems  due  to  the  pious  care  Lord  Wharncliffe  has  shown,  in 
vindicating  the  fair  fame  of  his  ancestress  from  the  false  imputations 
of  envious  slanderers,  to  give  these  Letters  in  full.  Lady  Mary's  part 
in  these  troublesome  transactions  was  not  free  from  blame ;  but  she 
never  deserved  the  foul  accusations  of  Horace  Walpole,  which  seem  to 
have  been  premeditated  malice.  Those  who  desire  to  see  falsehood 
refuted,  and  justice  done  to  the  character  of  an  impulsive  but  noble- 
hearted  woman,  will  be  deeply  interested  in  these  Letters. — Am.  Ed 


388  SUPPLEMENTARY    LETTERS     TO 

Among  Lady  Mary's  papers  there  is  a  long  paper,  written  in 
Italian,  not  by  herself,  giving  an  account  of  her  having  been 
detained  for  some  time  against  her  will,  in  a  country-house  be- 
longing to  an  Italian  count,  and  inhabited  by  him  and  his 
mother.  This  paper  seems  to  be  drawn  up  either  as  a  case  to 
be  submitted  to  a  lawyer  for  his  opinion,  or  to  be  produced  in 
a  court  of  law.  There  is  nothing  else  to  be  found  in  Lady 
Mary's  papers  referring  in  the  least  degree  to  this  circumstance. 
It  would  appear,  however,  that  some  such  forcible  detention 
as  is  alluded  to  did  take  place,  probably  for  some  pecuniary  or 
interested  object ;  but,  like  many  of  Horace  Waipole's  stories, 
he  took  care  not  to  let  this  lose  any  thing  that  might  give  it 
zest,  and  he  therefore  makes  the  person  by  whom  Lady  Mary 
was  detained  "  a  young  fellow  whom  she  set  out  with  keeping." 
Now,  at  the  time  of  this  transaction  taking  place,  Lady  Mary 
was  sixty-one  years  old.  The  reader,  therefore,  may  judge  for 
himself,  how  far  such  an  imputation  upon  her  is  likely  to  be 
founded  in  truth,  and  will  bear  in  mind  that  there  was  no  indis- 
position upon  the  part  of  Horace  Walpole  to  make  insinuations 
of  that  sort  against  Lady  Mary. 

The  other  passage  is  in  letter  232 ;  and  after  saying  that 
he  had  lately  been  at  Woburn,  where  he  had  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  fifty  letters  of  Lady  Mary's  to  her  sister  Lady 
Mar,  "  whom  she  treated  so  hardly  while  out  of  her  senses," 
Horace  Walpole  adds  as  follows : — "  Ten  of  the  letters,  in- 
deed, are  dismal  lamentations  and  frights  on  a  scene  of  vil- 
lainy of  Lady  Mary's,  who  having  persuaded  one  Ruremonde, 
a  Frenchman,  and  her  lover,  to  intrust  her  with  a  large  sum 
of  money  to  buy  stock  for  him,  frightened  him  out  of  England 
by  persuading  him  that  Mr.  Wortley  had  discovered  the  in- 
trigue, and  would  murder  him  ;  and  then  would  have  sunk  the 
trust.  That  not  succeeding,  and  he  threatening  to  print  her 
letters,  she  endeavored  to  make  Lord  Mar  or  Lord  Stair  cut 
his  throat.  Pope  hints  at  these  anecdotes  of  her  history  in 
that  line  — 

1  Who  starves  a  sister  or  denies  a  debt.' " 


THE    COUNTESS    OF    MAR.  389 

Nothing  whatever  has  been  found  to  throw  light  upon  the 
ill  treatment  of  Lady  Mar  by  Lady  Mary ;  and  that  accusation 
is  supposed,  by  those  who  would  probably  have  heard  of  it,  if 
true,  to  be  without  foundation.  But  nine  letters  to  Lady  Mar 
relating  to  a  transaction  with  a  person  whom  Lady  Mary  calls 
"  R.,  a  Frenchman,"  are  among  the  papers  which  have  been 
communicated  to  the  Editor,  which  must  be  the  letters  alluded 
to  by  Horace  Walpole,  although  there  appears  to  be  one  short 
of  the  number  mentioned  by  him,  possibly  by  mistake.  In 
order  that  the  reader  may  be  enabled  to  see  the  actual  grounds 
upon  which  a  charge  of  so  scandalous  and  heinous  a  character 
has  been  made  by  Mr.  Walpole,  these  letters  are  now  given  to 
the  public.  They  are  in  no  degree  interesting  in  any  other 
respect ;  but  inasmuch  as  the  fact  of  their  existence  has  been 
asserted  in  a  publication  which  has  been  generally  read,  and 
that  their  not  being  produced  might  be  taken  in  some  degree 
as  an  acknowledgment  of  the  charge  founded  upon  them,  the 
Editor  has  thought  it  only  fair  that  they  should  speak  for  them- 
selves, and  that  Lady  Mary's  own  account  of  that  transaction 
should  be  known. 

These  letters  are  without  dates  by  which  to  fix  the  precise 
periods  at  which  they  were  written ;  but  as  the  fall  of  the 
South  Sea  stock  began  in  September  1*720,  they  must  have 
been  written  in  the  latter  end  of  that  year,  or  the  beginning 
of  1721. 


LETTER  I. 

From  the  tranquil  and  easy  situation  in  which  you  left  me, 
dear  sister,  I  am  reduced  to  that  of  the  highest  degree  of  vexa- 
tion, which  I  need  not  set  out  to  you  better  than  by  the  plain 
matter  of  fact,  which  I  heartily  wish  I  had  told  you  long  since ; 
and  nothing  hindered  me  but  a  certain  mauvaise  honte  which 
you  are  reasonable  enough  to  forgive,  as  very  natural,  though 
iiot  very  excusable  where  there  is  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of; 


390  SUPPLEMENTARY     LETTERS      TO 

since  I  can  only  accuse  myself  of  too  much  good-nature,  or  at 
worst  of  too  much  credulity,  though  I  believe  there  never  was 
more  pains  taken  to  deceive  any  body.  In  short,  a  person 
whose  name  is  not  necessary,  because  you  know  it,  took  all 
sorts  of  methods,  during  almost  a  year,  to  persuade  me  that 
there  never  was  so  extraordinary  an  attachment  (or  what  you 
please  to  call  it)  as  they  had  for  me.  This  ended  in  coming 
over  to  make  me  a  visit  against  my  will,  and  as  was  pretended, 
very  much  against  their  interest.  I  can  not  deny  I  was  very 
silly  in  giving  the  least  credit  to  this  stuff.  But  if  people  are 
so  silly,  you'll  own  'tis  natural  for  any  body  that  is  good-natured 
to  pity  and  be  glad  to  serve  a  person  they  believe  unhappy  on 
their  account.  It  came  into  my  head,  out  of  a  high  point  of 
generosity  (for  which  I  wish  myself  hanged),  to  do  this  creature 
all  the  good  I  possibly  could,  since  't  was  impossible  to  make 
them  happy  in  their  own  way.  I  advised  him  very  strenuously 
to  sell  out  of  the  subscription,  and  in  compliance  to  my  advice 
he  did  so ;  and  in  less  than  two  days  saw  he  had  done  very 
prudently.  After  a  piece  of  service  of  this  nature,  I  thought 
I  could  more  decently  press  his  departure,  which  his  follies 
made  me  think  necessary  for  me.  He  took  leave  of  me  with 
so  many  tears  and  grimaces  (which  I  can't  imagine  how  he 
could  counterfeit)  as  really  moved  my  compassion ;  and  I  had 
much  ado  to  keep  to  my  first  resolution  of  exacting  his  absence, 
which  he  swore  would  be  his  death.  I  told  him  that  there  was 
no  other  way  in  the  world  I  would  not  be  glad  to  serve  him 
in,  but  that  his  extravagances  made  it  utterly  impossible  for 
me  to  keep  him  company.  He  said  that  he  would  put  into 
my  hands  the  money  I  had  won  for  him,  and  desired  me  to 
improve  it,  saying  that  if  he  had  enough  to  buy  a  small  estate 
and  retire  from  the  world,  'twas  all  the  happiness  he  Loped 
for  in  it.  I  represented  to  him  that  if  he  had  so  little  money 
as  he  said,  't  was  ridiculous  to  hazard  it  all.  He  replied  that 
't  was  too  little  to  be  of  any  value,  and  he  would  either  have  it 
double  or  quit.  After  many  objections  on  my  side  and  replies 
on  his,  I  was  so  weak  as  to  be  overcome  by  his  entreaties,  and 


THE    COUNTESS    OF    MAR.  391 

flattered  myself  also  that  I  was  doing  a  very  heroic  action,  in 
trying  to  make  a  man's  fortune  though  I  did  not  care  for  his 
addresses.  He  left  me  with  these  imaginations,  and  my  first 
care  was  to  employ  his  money  to  the  best  advantage.  I  laid  it 
all  out  in  stock,  the  general  discourse  and  private  intelligence 
then  scattered  about  being  of  a  great  rise.  You  may  remember 
it  was  two  or  three  days  before  the  fourth  subscription,  and 
you  were  with  me  when  I  paid  away  the  money  to  Mr.  Ben- 
field.  I  thought  I  had  managed  prodigious  well, in  selling  out 
the  said  stock  the  day  after  the  shutting  the  books  (for  a  small 
profit),  to  Cox  and  Cleave,  goldsmiths  of  a  very  good  reputa- 
tion. When  the  opening  of  the  books  came,  my  man  went 
oft',  leaving  the  stock  upon  my  hands,  which  was  already  sunk 
from  near  £900  to  £400.  I  immediately  writ  him  word  of 
this  misfortune,  with  the  sincere  sorrow  natural  to  have  upon 
such  an  occasion,  and  asked  his  opinion  as  to  the  selling  the 
stock  remaining  in.  He  made  me  no  answer  to  this  part  of 
my  letter,  but  a  long  eloquent  oration  of  miseries  of  another 
nature.  I  attributed  this  silence  to  his  disinterested  neglect  of 
his  money ;  but,  however,  I  resolved  to  take  no  more  steps  in 
this  business  without  direct  orders,  after  having  been  so  un- 
lucky. This  occasioned  many  letters  to  no  purpose ;  but  the 
very  post  after  you  left  London,  I  received  a  letter  from  him, 
in  which  he  told  me  that  he  had  discovered  all  my  tricks, 
that  he  was  convinced  I  had  all  his  money  untouched ;  and  he 
would  have  it  again  or  he  would  print  all  my  letters  to  him ; 
which  though,  God  knows,  very  innocent  in  the  main,  yet  may 
admit  of  ill  constructions,  besides  the  monstrousness  of  being 
exposed  in  such  a  manner.  I  hear  from  other  people  that  he 
is  liar  enough  to  publish  that  I  have  borrowed  the  money  from 
him  ;  though  I  have  a  note  under  his  hand,  by  which  he  desires 
me  to  employ  it  in  the  funds,  and  acquits  me  of  being  answer- 
able for  the  losses  that  may  happen.  At  the  same  time,  I  have 
attestations  and  witnesses  of  the  bargains  I  made,  so  that  noth- 
ing can  be  clearer  than  my  integrity  in  this  business  ;  but  that 
does  not  hinder  me  from  being  in   the  utmost  terror  for  the 


392  SUPPLEMENTARY     LETTERS      TO 

consequences  (as  you  may  easily  guess)  of  his  villainy ;  the  very 
story  of  which  appears  so  monstrous  to  me  that  I  can  hardly 
believe  myself  while  I  write  it ;  though  I  omit  (not  to  tire  you) 
a  thousand  aggravating  circumstances.  I  can  not  forgive  my- 
self the  folly  of  ever  regarding  one  word  he  said;  and  I  see 
now  that  his  lies  have  made  made  me  wrong  several  of  my 
acquaintances,  and  you  among  the  rest,  for  having  said  (as  he 
told  me)  horrid  things  against  me  to  him.  'Tis  long  since  that 
your  behavior  has  acquitted  you  in  my  opinion  ;  but  I  thought 
I  ought  not  to  mention,  to  hurt  him  with  you,  what  was  per- 
haps more  misundei  standing,  or  a  mistake,  than  a  designed  lie. 
But  he  has  very  amply  explained  his  character  to  me.  What 
is  very  pleasant  is,  that,  but  two  posts  before,  I  received  a  letter 
from  him  full  of  higher  flights  than  ever.  I  beg  your  pardon 
(dear  sister)  for  this  tedious  account ;  but  you  see  how  neces- 
sary 'tis  for  me  to  get  my  letters  from  this  madman.  Perhaps 
the  best  way  is  by  fair  means ;  at  least  they  ought  to  be  first 
tried.  I  would  have  you,  then  (my  dear  sister),  try  to  make 
the  wretch  sensible  of  the  truth  of  what  I  advance,  without 
asking  for  my  leters,  which  I  have  already  asked  for.  Perhaps 
you  may  make  him  ashamed  of  his  infamous  proceedings,  by 
talking  of  me,  without  taking  notice  that  you  know  of  his 
threats,  only  of  my  dealings.  I  take  this  method  to  be  the 
most  likely  to  work  upon  him.  I  beg  you  would  send  me  a 
full  and  true  account  of  this  detestable  affair  (inclosed  to  Mrs. 
Murray).  If  I  had  not  been  the  most  unlucky  creature  in  the 
world,  his  letter  would  have  come  while  you  were  here,  that  I 
might  have  showed  you  both  his  note  and  the  other  people's. 
I  knew  he  was  discontented,  but  was  far  from  imagining  a  pos- 
sibility of  this  thing.  I  give  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  but 
you  see  I  shall  owe  you  the  highest  obligation  if  you  can  serve 
me :  the  very  endeavoring  of  it  is  a  tie  upon  me  to  serve  you 
the  rest  of  my  life  and  with  eternal  gratitude. 


THE    COUNTESS    OF    MAR.  393 


LETTER  II. 


I  can  not  forbear  (dear  sister)  accusing  you  of  unkindness 
that  you  took  so  little  care  of  a  business  of  the  last  importance 
to  me.  R wrote  to  me  some  time  ago,  to  say  if  I  would  im- 
mediately send  him  £2,000  sterling,  he  would  send  me  an  ac- 
quittance. As  this  was  sending  him  several  hundreds  out  of 
my  own  pocket,  I  absolutely  refused  it ;  and,  in  return,  I  have 
just  received  a  threatening  letter  to  print  I  know  not  what 
stuff  against  me.  I  am  too  well  acquainted  with  the  world, 
(of  which  poor  Mis.  Murray's  affair  is  a  fatal  instance),  not  to 
know  that  the  most  groundless  accusation  is  always  of  ill-con- 
sequence to  a  woman  ;  besides  the  cruel  misfortunes  it  may 
bring  upon  me  in  my  own  family.  If  you  have  any  compassion 
either  for  me  or  my  innocent  children,  I  am  sure  you  will  try 
to  prevent  it.  The  thing  is  too  serious  to  be  delayed.  I  think 
(to  say  nothing  of  either  blood  or  affection)  that  humanity 
and  Christianity  are  interested  in  my  preservation.  I  am  sure 
I  can  answer  for  my  hearty  gratitude  and  everlasting  acknowl- 
edgment of  a  service  much  more  important  than  that  of  saving 
my  life. 


LETTER  m. 

I  give  you  many  thanks  (my  dear  sister)  for  the  trouble  you 
have  given  yourself  in  my  affair ;  but  am  afraid  it  is  not  yet 
effectual.  I  must  beg  you  to  let  him  know  I  am  now  at  Twick- 
enham, and  that  whoever  has  his  procuration  may  come  here 
on  diverse  pretenses,  but  must  by  no  means  go  to  my  house  at 
London.  I  wonder  you  can  think  Lady  Stafford  has  not  wrote 
to  him:  she  showed  me  a  long  plain  letter  to  him  several 
months  ago  ;  as  a  demonstration  he  received  it,  I  saw  his  an- 
swer. 'Tis  true  she  treated  him  with  the  contempt  he  de- 
served, and  told  him  she  would  never  give  herself  the  trouble 
of  writing  again  to  so  despicable  a  wretch.     She  is  willing  to 

17* 


394  SUPPLEMENTARY     LETTERS     TO 

do  yet  further,  and  write  to  the  Duke  of  Villeroi  about  it,  if  I 

think  it  proper.     R does  nothing  but  lie,  and  either  does 

not,  or  will  not,  understand  what  is  said  to  him.  You  will  for- 
give me  troubling  you  so  often  with  this  business;  the  im- 
portance of  it  is  the  best  excuse ;  in  short 


'tis  joy  or  sorrow,  peace  or  strife, 


Tis  all  the  color  of  remaining  life. 

I  can  foresee  nothing  else  to  make  me  unhappy,  and,  I  believe, 
shall  take  care  another  time  not  to  involve  myself  in  difficulties 
by  an  overplus  of  heroic  generosity. 

I  am,  dear  sister,  ever  yours,  with  the  utmost  esteem  and 
affection.  If  I  get  over  this  cursed  affair,  my  style  may  en- 
liven. 


LETTER  IV. 

Twickenham,  September  6. 
I  have  just  received  your  letter,  dear  sister ;  I  am  extremely 
sensible  of  your  goodness,  which  I  beg  you  to  continue.  I  am 
very  glad  to  hear  of  the  good  health  of  your  family ;  and  should 
be  only  more  so  to  be  a  witness  of  it,  which  I  am  not  without 
some  hopes  of.  My  time  is  melted  away  here  in  almost  per- 
petual concerts.  I  do  not  presume  to  judge,  but  I  '11  assure 
you  I  am  a  very  hearty  as  well  as  humble  admirer.  I  have 
taken  my  little  thread  satin  beauty  into  the  house  with  me  ;  she 
is  allowed  by  Bononcini  to  have  the  finest  voice  he  ever  heard 
in  England.  He  and  Mrs.  Robinson  and  Senesino  lodge  in  this 
village,  and  sup  often  with  me;  and  this  easy  indolent  life 
makes  me  the  happiest  thing  in  the  world,  if  I  had  not  this 
execrable  affair  still  hanging  over  my  head.  I  have  consulted 
my  lawyer,  and  he  says  I  can  not,  with  safety  to  myself,  deposit 
the  money  I  have  received  into  other  hands,  without  the  express 

order  of  R ;  and  he  is  so  unreasonable  that  he  will  neither 

send  a  procuration  to  examine  my  accounts,  or  any  order  for 


THE    COUNTESS    OF    MAR.  395 

me  to  transfer  his  stock  to  another  name.  I  am  heartily  weary 
of  the  trust,  which  has  given  me  so  much  trouble,  and  can 
never  think  myself  safe  till  I  am  quite  got  rid  of  it :  rather  than 
be  plagued  any  longer  with  the  odious  keeping,  I  am  willing  to 
abandon  my  letters  to  his  discretion.  I  desire  nothing  more  of 
him  than  an  order  to  place  his  money  in  other  hands,  which 
methinks  should  not  be  so  hard  to  obtain,  since  he  is  so  dis- 
satisfied with  my  management ;  but  he  seems  to  be  bent  to 
torment  me,  and  will  not  even  touch  his  money,  because  I  beg 
it  of  him.  I  wish  you  would  represent  these  things  to  him ; 
for  my  own  part,  I  live  in  so  much  uneasiness  about  it  I  am 
sometimes  weary  of  life  itself. 

Mrs.  Stoner  will  be  a  good  person  to  send  things  by.    I  would 
have  no  black  silk,  having  bought  some. 


LETTER  V. 

Dear  Sister — Having  this  occasion,  I  would  not  omit 
writing,  though  I  have  received  no  answer  to  my  two  last.  The 
bearer  is  well  acquainted  with  my  affair,  though  not  from  me, 
till  he  mentioned  it  to  me  first,  having  heard  it  from  those  to 

whom  R had  told  it  with  all  the  false  colors  he  pleased  to 

lay  on.  I  showed  him  the  formal  commission  I  had  to  employ 
the  money,  and  all  the  broker's  testimonies  taken  before  Del- 
pecke,  with  his  certificate.     Your  remonstrances  have  hitherto 

had  so  little  effect,  that  R will  neither  send  a  letter  of 

attorney  to  examine  my  accounts,  nor  let  me  be  in  peace.  I 
received  a  letter  from  him  but  two  posts  since,  in  which  he  re- 
news his  threats,  except  I  send  him  the  whole  sum,  which  is  as 
much  in  my  power  as  it  is  to  send  a  million.  I  can  easily 
comprehend  that  he  may  be  ashamed  to  send  a  procuration, 
which  must  convince  the  world  of  all  the  lies  which  he  has 
told.  For  my  part,  I  am  so  willing  to  be  rid  of  the  plague  of 
hearing  from  him,  I  desire  no  better  than  to  restore  him  with 
all  expedition  the  money  I  have  in  my  hands  ;  but  I  will  not 


396  SUPPLEMENTARY     LETTERS     TO 

do  it  without  a  general  acquittance  in  due  form,  not  to  have 
fresh  demands  every  time  he  wants  money.  If  he  thinks  he 
has  a  larger  sum  to  receive  than  I  offer,  why  does  he  not  name 
a  procurator  to  examine  me  ?  and  if  he  is  content  with  that 
sum,  I  only  insist  on  the  acquittance  for  my  own  safety  I 
am  ready  to  send  it  him,  with  full  license  to  tell  as  many  lies 
as  he  pleases  afterward.  I  am  weary  with  troubling  you  with 
repetitions  which  can  not  be  more  disagreeable  to  you  than 
they  are  to  me.  I  have  had,  and  still  have,  so  much  vexation 
with  this  execrable  affair,  'tis  impossible  to  describe  it.  I  had 
rather  talk  to  you  of  any  thing  else,  but  it  fills  my  whole  head. 
I  am  still  at  Twickenham,  where  I  pass  my  time  in  great  in- 
dolence and  sweetness.  Mr.  W is  at  this  time  in  York- 
shire. My  fair  companion  puts  me  oft  in  mind  of  our  Thoresby 
conversations ;  we  read  and  walk  together,  and  I  am  more 
happy  in  her  than  any  thing  else  could  make  me  except  your 
conversation. 


LETTER  VL 

I  have  just  received  your  letter  of  May  30th,  and  am  sur- 
prised, since  you  own  the  receipt  of  my  letter,  that  you  give  me 
not  the  least  hint  concerning  the  business  that  I  wrote  so  earn- 
estly to  you  about.  Till  that  is  over  I  am  as  little  capable  of 
repeating  news,  as  I  should  be  if  my  house  was  on  fire.  I  am 
sure  a  great  deal  must  be  in  your  power  ;  the  hurting  me  can 
be  no  way  his  interest.  I  am  ready  to  assign,  or  deliver  the 
money  for  £500  stock,  to  whoever  he  will  name,  if  he  will 
send  my  letters  into  Lady  Stafford's  hands ;  which,  were  he 
sincere  in  his  offer  of  burning  them,  he  would  readily  do.  In- 
stead of  that,  he  has  written  a  letter  to  Mr.  W to  inform 

him  of  the  whole  affair :  luckily  for  me,  the  person  he  has  sent 
it  to  assures  me  it  shall  never  be  delivered  ;  but  I  am  not  the 
less  obliged  to  his  good  intentions.  For  God's  sake,  do  some- 
thing to  set  my  mind  at  ease  from  this  business,  and  then  I 


THE    COUNTESS    OF   MAR.  397 

will  not  fail  to  write  you  regular  accounts  of  all  your  acquaint- 
ance. Mr.  Strickland  has  had  a  prodigy  of  good  fortune  be- 
fallen him,  which,  I  suppose,  you  have  heard  of. 

My  little  commission  is  hardly  worth  speaking  of;  if  you 
have  not  already  laid  out  that  small  sum  in  St.  Cloud  ware,  I 
had  rather  have  it  in  plain  lutestring  of  any  color. 

Lady  Stafford  desires  you  would  buy  one  suit  of  minunet 
for  head  and  ruffles  at  Boileau's. 


LETTER  VH. 

I  can  not  enough  thank  you,  my  dear  sister,  for  the  trouble 
you  give  yourself  in  my  affairs,  though  I  am  still  so  unhappy 
to  find  your  care  very  ineffectual.    I  have  actually  in  my  present 

possession  a  formal  letter  directed  to  Mr.  W to  acquaint  him 

with  the  whole  business.  You  may  imagine  the  inevitable 
eternal  misfortunes  it  would  have  thrown  me  into,  had  it  been 
delivered  by  the  person  to  whom  it  was  intrusted.  I  wish  you 
would  make  him  sensible  of  the  infamy  of  his  proceeding, 
which  can  no  way  in  the  world  turn  to  his  advantage.  Did  I 
refuse  giving  up  the  strictest  account,  or  had  I  not  the 
clearest  demonstration  in  my  hands  of  the  truth  and  sincerity 
with  which  I  acted,  there  might  be  some  temptation  to  this 

business ;  but  all  he  can  expect  by  informing  Mr.  W ,  is  to 

hear  him  repeat  the  same  things  that  I  assert ;  he  will  not  re- 
trieve one  farthing,  and  I  am  forever  miserable.  I  beg  no 
more  of  him  than  to  direct  any  person,  man  or  woman,  either 
lawyer,  broker,  or  a  person  of  quality,  to  examine  me ;  and  as 
soon  as  he  has  sent  a  proper  authority  to  discharge  me  on 
inquiry,  I  am  ready  to  be  examined.  I  think  no  offer  can  be 
fairer  from  any  person  whatsoever :  his  conduct  toward  me  is 
so  infamous  that  I  am  informed  I  might  prosecute  him  by  law 
if  he  was  here  ;  he  demanding  the  whole  sum  as  a  debt  from 
Mr.  Wortley,  at  the  same  time  I  have  a  note  under  his  hand 
to  prove  the  contrary.    I  beg  with  the  utmost  earnestness  that 


r398  SUPPLEMENTARY     LETTERS     TO 

you  would  make  liiru  sensible  of  his  error.  Observe  'tis  very 
necessary  to  say  something  to  fright  him.  I  am  persuaded  if 
he  was  talked  to  in  a  style  of  that  kind,  he  would  not  dare  to 
attempt  to  ruin  me.  I  have  a  great  inclination  to  write  seri- 
ously to  your  lord  about  it,  since  I  desire  to  determine  this 
affair  in  the  fairest  and  the  clearest  manner.  I  am  not  at  all 
afraid  of  making  any  body  acquainted  with  it ;  and  if  I  did  not 
fear  making  Mr.  Wortley  uneasy  (who  is  the  only  person  from 
whom  I  would  conceal  it),  all  the  transactions  should  have  been 
long  since  enrolled  in  Chancery.  I  have  already  taken  care  to 
have  the  broker's  depositions  taken,  before  a  lawyer  of  reputa- 
tion and  merit.  I  deny  giving  him  no  satisfaction ;  and  after 
that  offer,  I  think  there  is  no  man  of  honor  that  would  refuse 
signifying  to  him  that  as  'tis  all  he  can  desire,  so,  if  he  persists 
in  doing  me  an  injury,  he  may  repent  it.  You  know  how  far 
'tis  proper  to  take  this  method.  I  say  nothing  of  the  uneasiness 
I  am  under,  'tis  far  beyond  any  expression ;  my  obligation 
would  be  proportionate  to  any  body  that  would  deliver  me 
from  it,  and  I  should  not  think  it  paid  by  all  the  services  of 
my  life. 


LETTER  Vni. 


I  am  now  at  Twickenham :  'tis  impossible  to  tell  you,  dear 
sister,  what  agonies  I  suffer  every  post-day ;  my  health  really 
suffers  so  much  from  my  fears  that  I  have  reason  to  apprehend 
the  worst  consequences.  If  that  monster  acted  on  the  least 
principles  of  reason,  I  should  have  nothing  to  fear,  since  'tis 
certain  that  after  he  has  exposed  me  he  will  get  nothing  by  it. 
Mr.  Wortley  can  do  nothing  for  his  satisfaction  I  am  not  will- 
ing to  do  myself.  I  desire  not  the  least  indulgence  of  any 
kind.  Let  him  put  his  affair  into  the  hands  of  any  lawyer 
whatever.  I  am  willing  to  submit  to  any  examination ;  'tis 
impossible  to  make  a  fairer  offer  than  this  is :  whoever  he  em- 
ploys may  come  to  me  hither  on  several  pretenses.     I  desire 


THE    COUNTESS    OF    MAR.  399 

nothing  from  him  but  that  he  would  send  no  letters  or  mes- 
sages to  my  house  at  London,  where  Mr.  Wortley  now  is.  I 
am  come  hither  in  hopes  of  benefit  from  the  air,  but  I  carry 
my  distemper  about  me  in  an  anguish  of  mind  that  visibly  de- 
cays my  body  every  day.  I  am  too  melancholy  to  talk  of  any 
other  subject.  Let  me  beg  you,  dear  sister,  to  take  some  care 
of  this  affair,  and  think  you  have  it  in  your  power  to  do  more 
than  save  the  life  of  a  sister  that  loves  you. 


LETTER  IX. 
I  send  you,  dear  sister,  by  Lady  Lansdown  this  letter,  ac- 
companied by  the  only  present  that  was  ever  sent  me  by  that 
monster.  I  beg  you  to  return  it  immediately.  I  am  told  he 
is  preparing  to  come  to  London.  Let  him  know  that  it  is  not 
at  all  necessary  for  receiving  his  money  or  examining  my  ac- 
counts ;  he  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  send  a  letter  of  attorney  to 
whom  he  pleases  (without  exception),  and  I  will  readily  deliver 
up  what  I  have  in  my  hands,  and  his  presence  will  not  obtain 
a  farthing  more  :  his  design  then  can  only  be  to  expose  my 
letters  here.  I  desire  you  will  assure  him  that  my  first  step 
will  be  to  acquaint  my  Lord  Stair  with  all  his  obligations  to 
him,  as  soon  as  I  hear  he  is  in  London ;  and  if  he  dares  to  give 
me  any  further  trouble,  I  shall  take  care  to  have  him  rewarded 
in  a  stronger  manner  than  he  expects ;  there  is  nothing  more 
true  than  this  :  and  I  solemnly  swear  that,  if  all  the  credit  or 
money  that  I  have  in  the  world  can  do  it,  either  for  friendship 
or  hire,  I  shall  not  fail  to  have  him  used  as  he  deserves ;  and 
since  I  know  his  journey  can  only  be  intended  to  expose  me,  I 
shall  not  value  what  noise  is  made.  Perhaps  you  may  prevent 
it;  I  leave  you  to  judge  of  the  most  proper  method  ;  'tis  cer- 
tain no  time  should  be  lost ;  fear  is  his  predominant  passion, 
and  I  believe  you  may  fright  him  from  coming  hither,  where 
he  will  certainly  find  a  reception  very  disagreeable  to  him. 


400  SUPPLEMENTARY     LETTERS    TO 

There  can  be  no  better  specimen  of  the  manner  in  which  a 
story  gains  as  it  passes  through  the  hands  of  those  who  de- 
light in  gossip,  or  who  are  prepared  to  believe  the  worst  of  the 
person  concerned.  Horace  Walpole  refers  to  these  letters  as 
the  ground  of  his  story,  and  so  far  as  they  go,  they  do  not 
support  any  one  of  his  statements.  According  to  these  letters 
Lady  Mary  did  not  persuade  Mons.  R.  to  intrust  her  with  a 
considerable  sum  of  money  to  buy  stock  for  him,  but  she 
yielded  to  his  earnest  solicitations  in  that  respect  with  consid- 
erable difficulty.  Neither  did  Lady  Mary  "  frighten  Mons.  R. 
out  of  England,  by  persuading  him  that  Mr.  Wortley  had  dis- 
covered the  intrigue,  and  would  murder  him ;"  but,  on  the 
contrary,  Mons.  R.  having  returned  to  France,  endeavored  to 
frighten  Lady  Mary  into  the  payment  of  his  losses  in  his 
South  Sea  speculations,  by  threatening  to  print  all  her  letters 
to  him,  and  to  make  Mr.  Wortley  acquainted  with  every  thing. 
Nor  would  Lady  Mary  "  have  sunk  the  trust,"  for  she  repeat- 
edly calls  upon  him,  through  Lady  Mar,  to  appoint  persons  to 
examine  her,  before  whom  she  is  ready  to  submit  her  accounts, 
and  to  be  questioned.  And  lastly,  Lady  Mary  never  did  "  en- 
deavor to  make  Lord  Mar  or  Lord  Stair  cut  Mons.  R.'s  throat." 
She  certainly  threatened  him,  through  Lady  Mar,  in  case  of 
his  coming  to  England ;  but  no  one  who  reads  that  threat  can 
imagine  that  it  is  meant  to  convey  the  idea  of  her  intending 
to  have  his  throat  cut  by  anybody. 

Horace  Walpole's  accusations,  therefore,  are  none  of  them 
warranted  by  these  letters  ;  but  at  the  same  time,  even  upon 
her  own  showing,  Lady  Mary  can  not  be  acquitted  of  allowing 
her  vanity  to  overcome  her  judgment,  and  of  placing  her  char- 
acter at  the  mercy  of  an  adventurer.  Nor  can  her  gambling 
in  the  South  Sea  funds  be  defended ;  the  only  excuse  for  which 
is,  the  very  general  prevalence  of  a  spirit  of  that  kind,  almost 
amounting  to  madness,  in  all  classes  of  society  at  that  period. 
To  those  who  know  by  tradition  the  severity  of  Mr.  Wortley's 
principles  in  regard  to  every  thing  connected  with  money—  -a 
feeling  produced  by  the  recklessness  of  his  father  in  those 


THE    COUNTESS    OF    MAR.  401 

matters,  against  which  he  had,  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  life, 
constantly  to  contend — Lady  Mary's  strong  fears  of  this  trans- 
action coming  to  his  knowledge  will  be  readily  intelligible. 
A  consciousness  of  her  own  imprudence  in  the  whole  affair 
may  also  be  naturally  supposed  to  have  added  to  her  fears, 
without  imputing  them  to  a  sense  of  actual  criminality.  More 
than  once,  indeed,  in  these  letters,  Lady  Mary  offers  to  submit 
to  any  examination  to  which  Mons.  R.  may  choose  to  expose 
her ;  and  in  one  of  them  she  even  says  'that  if  he  will  only 
send  over  a  procuration  to  examine  her  accounts,  she  will  aban- 
don her  letters  to  his  discretion.  Such  an  offer  appears  to  be 
incompatible  with  there  being  any  thing  in  her  letters  which 
could  really  affect  her  character ;  but  it  is  at  least  quite  clear 
that  Horace  Walpole  had  no  right  to  found  upon  these  letters 
to  Lady  Mar  so  gross  and  exaggerated  an  accusation. 

Mr.  Cole,  in  his  MSS.  now  in  the  British  Museum,  repeats 
this  story ;  but  it  is  evident  that  he  derives  his  information 
from  Horace  Walpole,  his  friend  and  correspondent,  as,  in  the 
same  collection,  he  states  of  Lady  Mary,  that  he  "  heard  from 
Mad.  Geoffrin  and  Mr.  Walpole,  who  knew  her  well,  that  she 
was  the  vilest  of  womankind,  notwithstanding  her  talents  for 
wit,  vivacity,  and  genius,  and  elegance  of  taste,  were  unexcep- 
tionable." It  may  be  doubted,  however,  whether  Horace  Wal- 
pole ever  did  know  Lady  Mary  well.  She  went  abroad  in  the 
year  1*739,  at  which  time  he  was  only  just  of  age,  when  he 
could  scarcely  know  well  a  woman  of  nearly  fifty  years  old ; 
and  she  did  not  return  to  England  till  just  before  her  death. 
In  truth,  he  could  have  had  but  a  very  slight  personal  ac- 
quaintance with  her." 


402  LETTER   WRITTEN   TO 

LETTER  TO  THE  LORD  BISHOP  OF  SALISBURY.* 

(with  her  translation  of  epictetus.) 

July  20,  mo.f 
Mr  Lord — Your  hours  are  so  well  employed,  I  hardly 
dare  offer  you  this  trifle  to  look  over ;  but  then,  so  wrell  am  I 
acquainted  with  the  sweetness  of  temper  which  accompanies 
your  learning,  I  dare  ever  assure  myself  of  a  pardon.  You 
have  already  forgiven  me  greater  impertinencies,  and  conde- 
scended yet  further  in  giving  me  instructions,  and  bestowing 
some  of  your  minutes  in  teaching  me.  This  surprising  hu- 
mility has  all  the  effect  it  ought  to  have  on  my  heart ;  I  am 
sensible  of  the  gratitude  I  owe  to  so  much  ooodness,  and  how 
much  I  am  ever  bound  to  be  your  servant.  Here  is  the  work 
of  one  week  of  my  solitude — by  the  many  faults  in  it  your 
lordship  will  easily  believe  I  spent  no  more  time  upon  it;  it 
was  hardly  finished  when  I  was  obliged  to  begin  my  journey, 
and  I  had  not  leisure  to  write  it  over  again.  You  have  it  he.e 
without  any  corrections,  with  all  its  blots  and  errors ;  1  en- 
deavored at  no  beauty  of  style,  but  to  keep  as  literally  as  I 
could  to  the  sense  of  the  author.  My  only  intention  in  pre- 
senting it,  is  to  ask  your  Lordship  whether  I  have  understood 
Epictetus  ?  The  fourth  chapter  particularly,  I  am  afraid  I  have 
mistaken.  Piety  and  greatness  of  soul  set  you  above  all  mis- 
fortunes that  can  happen  to  yourself,  except  the  calumnies  of 
false  tongues ;  but  that  same  piety  which  renders  what  hap- 
pens to  yourself  indifferent  to  you,  yet  softens  the  natural  com- 
passion in  your  temper  to  the  greatest  degree  of  tenderness 
for  the  interests  of  the  Church,  and  the  liberty  and  welfare 
of  your  country ;  the  steps  that  are  now  made  toward  the 

*  Dr.  Gilbert  Burnet. 

f  Lady  Mary  was  about  nineteen  when  she  wrote  this  letter.  It  is 
a  powerful  argument  for  the  education  of  women.  Even  the  excuses 
she  feels  obliged  to  urge  on  her  own  behalf  for  venturing  into  the  then 
(to  her  sex)  forbidden  field  of  learning  are  eloquent  of  the  need  of  men- 
tal cultivation.  s.  J.  h. 


THE     LORD     BISHOP     OF     SALISBURY.  403 

destruction  of  both,  the  apparent  danger  we  are  in,  the  mani- 
fest growth  of  injustice,  oppression,  and  hypocrisy,  can  not  do 
otherwise  than  give  your  lordship  those  hours  of  sorrow, 
which,  did  not  your  fortitude  of  soul,  and  reflections  from 
religion  and  philosophy,  shorten,  would  add  to  the  national 
misfortunes,  by  injuring  the  health  of  so  great  a  supporter  of 
our  sinking  liberties.  I  ought  to  ask  pardon  for  this  digres- 
sion ;  it  is  more  proper  for  me  in  this  place,  to  say  something 
to  excuse  an  address  that  looks  so  very  presuming.  My_sex-is 
usually  forbid  studies  of  this  nature,  and  folly  reckoned  so 
much  our  proper  sphere,  that  we  are  sooner  pardoned  any  ex- 
cesses of  that,  than  the  least  pretensions  to  reading  or  good 
sense.  We  are  permitted  no  books  but  such  as  tend  to  the 
weakening  and  effeminating  of  the  mind.  Our  natural  defects 
are  every  way  indulged,  and  it  is  looked  upon  as  in  a  degree 
criminal  to  improve  our  reason,  or  fancy  we  have  any.  We 
are  taught  to  place  all  our  art  in  adorning  our  outward  forms, 
and  permitted,  without  reproach,  to  carry  that  custom  even 
to  extravagancy,  while  our  minds  are  entirely  neglected,  and, 
by  disuse  of  reflections,  filled  with  nothing  but  the  trifling  ob- 
jects our  eyes  are  daily  entertained  with.  This  custom,  so 
long  established  and  industriously  upheld,  makes  it  even  ridic- 
ulous to  go  out  of  the  common  road,  and  forces  one  to  find 
as  many  excuses,  as  if  it  were  a  thing  altogether  criminal  not 
to  play  the  fool  in  concert  with  other  women  of  quality,  whose 
birth  and  leisure  only  serve  to  render  them  the  most  useless 
and  most  worthless  part  of  the  creation.  There  is  hardly  a 
character  in  the  world  more  despicable,  or  more  liable  to 
universal  ridicule,  than  that  of  a  learned  woman ;  those  words 
imply,  according  to  the  received  sense,  a  talking,  impertinent, 
vain  and  conceited  creature.  I  believe  nobody  will  deny  that 
learning  may  have  this  effect,  but  it  must  be  a  very  super- 
ficial degree  of  it.  Erasmus  was  certainly  a  man  of  great 
learning,  and  good  sense,  and  he  seems  to  have  my  opinion 
of  it,  when  he  says,  Foemina  quae  vere  sapit,  non  videtur  sibi 
sapere  ;  contra,  quce  cum  nihil  sapiat  sibi  videtur  sapere,  ea 


404  THE     LORD     BISHOP     OF     SALISBURY. 

demum  bis  stulta  est.  The  Abbe  Bellegarde  gives  a  right 
reason  for  women's  talking  over-much,  that  they  know  nothing, 
and  every  outward  object  strikes  their  imagination,  and  pro- 
duces a  multitude  of  thoughts,  which,  if  they  knew  more, 
they  would  know  not  worth  their  thinking  of.  But  there  is  a 
worse  effect  than  this,  which  follows  the  careless  education 
given  to  women  of  quality,  its  being  so  easy  for  any  man  of 
sense,  that  finds  it  either  his  interest  or  his  pleasure,  to  corrupt 
them.  The  common  method  is,  to  begin  by  attacking  their 
religion;  they  bring  them  a  thousand  fallacious  arguments, 
which  their  excessive  ignorance  hinders  them  from  refuting ; 
and  I  speak  now  from  my  own  knowledge  and  conversation 
among  them,  there  are  more  Atheists  among  the  fine  ladies 
than  the  loosest  sort  of  rakes ;  and  the  same  ignorance  that 
generally  works  out  into  excess  of  superstition,  exposes  them 
to  the  snares  of  any  who  have  a  fancy  to  carry  them  to  the 
other  extreme.  I  have  made  my  excuses  already  too  long, 
and  will  conclude  in  the  words  of  Erasmus,  Vulgus  sentit  quod 
lingua  Latina  non  convenit  fosminis,  quia  parum  facit  ad  tu- 
endam  illarum  pudicitiam,  quoniam  rarum  et  insolitum  est, 
fceminam  scire  Latinam,  attamen  consuetudo  omnium  mala- 
rum  rerum  magistra.  Decorum  est  foeminam  in  Germania 
natam  discere  Gallice,  ut  loquatur  cum  his  qui  sciunt  Gallice, 
cur  igitur  habetur  indecorum  discere  Latine,  ut  quotidie  confa- 
buletur  cum  tot  autoribus  tamfacundis,  tarn  eruditus,  tarn  sa- 
pientibus,  tarn  fidis  consultoribus.  Certe  mihi  quantulum- 
cunque  cerebri  est,  malim  in  bonis  studiis  consumere,  quam  in 
precibus  sine  mente  dictis,  in  pernoctibus  conviviis,  in  exhauri- 
endis  capacibus  pateris,  etc. 

I  have  tired  your  lordship,  and  too  long  delayed  to  subscribe 
myself  your  lordship's  most  respectful  and  obliged  friend. 


INDEX. 


PAGE 

Abydos 108 

Addison 158,  306 

Adrianople 84 

Adrianople,  people  of. 139 

Age,  effects  of 386 

Amusements  in  1738 379 

Arbitrary  government 362 

Archer,  Mr.,  accident  to 323 

Argyll,  Duke  of. 271,  273 

Armenians,  the 364 

Arna'iuts 75 

Abbot,  the , 121 

Abbe 121 

Bagnio,  Turkish 69 

Balm  of  Mecca 97 

Beauty  in  girls 279 

Belgrade,  journey  from 72 

Belgrade 132,  156 

Belgrade  village 146 

Bentivoglio,  Countess  Licinia 312 

Biography  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley 

Montagu 7 

Birth-night  ball 168 

Bocorwar 66 

Bohemia 58 

Bolingbroke,  Lord 226,  303 

Bolton,  Duchess  of 247 

Borromean  Library 183 

Brudenel,  Lord 228 

Buda 64 

Building 385 

Bulgaria,  peasants  of 76 

Burying-fields,  Turkish 93 

Bute,  Lord  and  Lady 207,  221,  222 

Bute,  Countess  of 235 

Bute,  Countess  of,  letters  to 231 

Bute,  Lord 372 

Bute,  Lady,  as  a  mother 874 


PAGB 

Camp  at  Adrianople 8T 

Carlisle,  Lord 326 

Carlowitz 131 

Carthage,  ruins  of 116 

Cecisbeos 119 

Child,  shall  the  mother  nurse  her  ?. .  3S0 

Children,  training  of 247,  273 

Clarissa  Harlowe 261 

Clement  XIIL 340 

Coach,  Turkish 68 

Coke,  Lady  Mary 299 

Comedy  at  Vienna 128 

Complaint,  letters  of 40-44 

Consent  to  an  elopement 35 

Constantinople 93 

Conversation 371 

Cornbury,  Lord 300 

Coronation  of  George  II 175 

.Correspondence,  interrupted 225 

Court  life,  dislike  to 388 

Danube,  voyage  down  the 56 

Daughter,  birth  of 93 

David  Simple 292 

Death  by  lightning 152 

Dedication  from  Sir  J.  Steuart 348 

Destiny 377 

Diet 250 

Dinner  with  the  wife  of  the  Grand 

Vizier 81 

Disappointments  in  friendship 380 

Doge  of  Venice 366 

Dwarfs  at  court 60 

Education,  her  own 280 

Education  of  girls 277,  280 

Effendi,  Turkish 73,  134 

England,  sets  out  for 853 


406 


INDEX. 


PAGE 

England,  journey  to 352 

Epitaph  by  Lady  M.  W.  Montagu. . .  155 

Epitaphs  by  Pope 153, 154 

Errors  in  society 884 

Essex 66 

Eugene,  Prince 61 

Exchange,  Turkish 85 

Fatima,  visit  to  the  Kiyaya 104 

Fielding,  Henry 292,  307 

Fielding,  Sally 308 

Finch,  Lady  B 260 

First  impressions 376 

First  letter  to  Mr.  W.  after  marriage .  35 

Florence 192 

Forbiddal  of  the  banns 37 

Free  towns 369 

French  ladies  in  1748 371 

French,  manners  of 160 

Friendship 30 

Gaming 371 

Garden  at  Louvere 285 

Gardening 876 

Geneva 202 

Genoa 118 

Genoa,  customs  of. 200 

George  I.  proclaimed  king 46 

George  II.,  coronation  of 175 

Gotolengo 224 

Grandison,  Sir  Charles 266 

Greek  Church 74 

Greville,  Mr.  and  Mrs 298 

Grief,  indulgence  of 262 

Guastalla,  Duchess  of 223 

Gulliver's  travels 173 

Harem  of  the  Kiyaya,  visit  to 82 

Herculaneum 195 

He-wet,  John,  story  of 152 

Ignorance  in  women 258 

Iliad,  remarks  on 159 

Illness  at  Gotolengo 252 

Impudence,  advantage  of 49 

Incident  at  Venice 302 

Inge,  Henrietta 18 

Inoculation 14,  18, 183,  358 

Inscription,  Roman 224 

Italy,  customs  of 331 

Janizaries 133 

Jemmy  Jessamy 293 


PAGfl 

Jews 86 

Journey  to  Belgrade 181 

Journey  to  Brescia 217 

Journey  to  Constantinople 91 

Journey  through  Hungary. 62 

Journey  through  France 187 

Kingston,  the  Duke  of 7, 11 

Kiyaya,  visit  to  the 82 

Knowledge,  concealment  of. 275 

Knowledge,  use  of 275 


La  Trappe 

Ladies,  Hungarian 

Ladies  in  the  House  of  Lords 

Languages 

Languages  in  Constantinople,  variety 

of..,. 

Learned  ladies  in  Italy 

Learning  in  women 

Leopold,  Emperor 

Letter  to  Bishop  Burnet 

Letters,  her  opinion  of  her  own. 

Life  at  Vienna 

Light  reading 

Louvere,  description  of 

Louvere.  carried  to 

Louvere,  farm-house  at 

Louvere,  incident  at 

Louvere,  life  at 

Love-letter,  Turkish 


67 
383 
274 

107 


402 
173 
359 
237 
254 
252 
384 
232 
285 
105 


Madness 270 

j  Maffei,  Marquis 294 

Malta 115 

Mankind,  one  species. 875 

Mar,  Lady,  letters  to 54, 121,  387 

Mar,  Countess  of,  supplementary  let- 
ters to 387 

|  Marbles,  ancient 109 

Marriage  and  celibacy 276 

1  Marriage  of  the  daughter  of  the  Grand 

I     Seignior 361 

Medals,  ancient 94 

:  Mohammedism 78 

;  Mohatch 65 

.  Montagu,  Admiral 9 

■  Montagu,  Duke  of. 261 

Montagu,  Edward  "Wortley ...  .9-12 

j  Montagu,   Edward  Wortley,   letters 

j     to 19,186 

i  Montagu,  Lady  Mary  "Wortley,  char- 
acter of ^ 25 


INDEX. 


"ations. 


Moravians  346 

Mosque  of  Selim  1 88 

Mummy,  King  of  Sweden's 95 

Murray,  Mr 289 

Naples. 194-196 

No  one  happy  in  this  life 374 

Nunnery  near  Louvere 288 

Octavia,  story  of 242 

Old  age 311 

Old  age,  effect  of 315 

Opera  at  Vienna 126 

Orford,  Lord 199 

Orknev,  Lady 178 

Orrery,  Lord 227,  256 

Palace  at  Louvere 255 

Paradise  of  women 365 

Paris 160 

Paris  and  London  in  1718 367 

Parish  girl 250 

Paulines 75 

Pelham,  Lord 50 

Pera 93,  106 

Peregrine  Pickle 24-8 

Philips,  Mrs 251 

Philosophy,  Epicurean 350 

Physician  at  Louvers 253 

Physicians  at  Brescia 220 

Place,  importance  of 51 

Plagiary 274 

Pleasures  of  life 376 

Poet,  a  noble 377 

Politics 377 

Politics  and  women 825 

Pompey  the  Little 250 

Pope,  letters  to  and  from 122 

Pope,  opinion  of 258 

Pope  of  Rome 197 

Prague 58 

Preface 5 

Priest,  argument  with 269 

Procession  of  tradesmen 87 

Quackery 221 

Querini,  Cardinal 263 

Eaab 63 

Ramazan 116 

Rambler,  the 292 

Rascians 131 

Rawdon,  Sir  John 328 


Reading 274, 

Refusal  of  an  offer  of  marriage 

Regatta  at  Venice 

Relics  at  Ratisbon 

Rich,  Lady ±. 

Richardson's  novels 266,  270.  309 

Roderick  Random 261 

Roman  Catholic  doctrines 267 

Rome 192, 193, 198 

Rome,  winter  at 2S3 

Roseberry,  Lord 293 

Rotterdam 55 

Rotterdam,  letters  from 353 

Rotunda  at  Avignon '  214 

Rudel,  Jeffrey. 149 

Ruling  passion 36T 

Ruremonde,  affair  with 390-400 


Saint  Sophia,  Church  of 

Schoenbrunn,  visit  to  Count 

Scio , 

Selivrea 

Seraglio  at  Tchiorlu 

Sestos 

Sevigne,  Madame  de,  criticism  on... 

Slanders  of  Walpole 

Slaves,  Greek 

Small-pox  and  inoculation 

Smith,  Joseph 

Solitude 

Son  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu, 
flight  of 

Sophia 

Stafford,  Lady 179, 

Statue  to  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Mon- 
tagu   

Steele,  Sir  Richard 15, 

Steuart,  Sir  James  and  Lady  Frances, 
letters  to 

Steuart,  Sir  James 

Stuart,  Lady  Mary. 272, 

Study,  advantages  of 

Suicide 

Sultana  Hafiten,  visit  to  the 

Sumptuary  laws 

Swift,  Dean 256, 

Sydenham,  Dr 


364 
57 

113 
92 
91 

109 
30 

3S7 
96 

353 

291 

374 

184 
C8 
393 


290 


370 


Tea 221 

Trajan's  gate 76 

Traveler's  tales 103 

Trifles 879 


INDEX. 


PAGE 
110 

115,  116 

.  dress,  description  of  herself 

77 

.xKisu  house 362 

Turks,  remarks  on  the 158 

Twickenham,  Wasp  of 372 

Twickenham,  life  at 872 

Useful  knowledge 378 

Vane,  Lady,  memoirs  of 248 

Venice 819 

Venice,  diversions  of 230 

Verses  on  the  Duchess   of  Cleve- 
land   178 

Verses  to  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Mon- 
tagu...  164 


PA.GH 

Verses,  Turkish 148 

Vienna .66 

Walpole,  Horace,  slanders  of 88T 

Widow,  a  rich 378 

Williams,  Sir  Charles 828 

Women 381 

Women  of  Adrianople 78 

Women,  Turkish  ideas  of 94 

World,  the 371 

Wortley,  Anne 9, 19 

Wortley,  Mr.,  letters  to 186 

Wortley,  Mr.,  letter  from 202 

Wortley,  Edward,  jun 184-20 

Wortley,  Edward,  jun.,  conduct  of 
parents  to 401 

Youth,  how  to  preserve 886 


4 


Q 


J 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 

THE    LETTERS 

OF 

MADAME    DE    SEVIGNE 

TO  HER  DAUGHTER  AND  FRIENDS. 

EDITED    BY   MRS.    HALE. 

izmo.    Price  $1.50. 


"  The  charm  of  Madame  de  SevignS's  letters  has  so  long  been  acknowledged 
that  criticism  is  uncalled  for  in  referring  to  them,  nor  would  it  be  easy  to  find  a 
word  of  admiration  or  praise  that  has  not  already  been  pronounced  in  their 
favor.  For  spontaneity,  tenderness,  playfulness,  sweetness,  they  are  unequalled. 
The  style  is  all  that  is  most  simple  and  natural  and  graceful.  Madame 
de  Sevigne  has  no  variety  of  inspiration,  and  but  little  profundity  of  thought. 
She  is  inspired  by  only  one  sentiment,  her  love  for  her  daughter;  but  this 
single  note  is  so  sweet,  and  is  sung  in  so  many  keys,  and  with  such  a  pleasing 
accompaniment  of  spicy  gossip  and  pensive  meditation,  that  its  monotony  is 
never  unpl  easing.  The  influence  which  these  letters  have  exerted  upon  the 
development  of  the  French  language  and  French  literature  has  again  given 
them  a  classical  reputation,  which  works  of  far  greater  pretension  and  power 
have  never  attained.  They  will  ever  be  classed  with  the  works  of  a  few  great 
authors,  who  founded  in  France  the  distinctive  literary  school  that  at  a  latei 
period  obtained  a  development  so  varied  and  so  brilliant.  By  the  simplicity 
and  sincerity  of  her  genius,  Madame  de  Sevigne  corrected  the  false  taste  and 
feeble  sentimentality  of  her  day,  while  the  purity  of  her  style  exerted  an  im- 
mense influence  in  forming  the  language  in  which  she  wrote."  —  Miss 
Vaughan,  in  The  Leader. 


%*  Sold  by  all  Booksellers.    Mailed,  postpaid,  by  the  pub- 
Ushers, 

ROBERTS   BROTHERS,  Boston. 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers^  Publications. 

MEMOIRS  AND  CORRESPONDENCE 

OF 

Madame   Recamier. 

Translated  from  the  French  and  Edited   by    Isaphenx 
M.  Luyster. 

With  an  elegant  Steel  Engraved  Portrait.     One  volume. 
i6mo.     Price  #1.50. 


From  the  Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  biography  of  a  woman  who  admirably  fulfilled  a  great  social  mission,  by 
r'rtue  not  so  much  of  intellectual  genius  or  personal  charms  as  by  the  essential 
W07nanhood which  she  conserved  and  consecrated.  It  is  idle  to  attribute  the  in- 
fluence she  exerted,  the  comfort  she  gave,  the  encouragement  she  inspired,  the 
rational  pleasure  and  progress  she  promoted,  to  mere  blandishments  or  dexterous 
:oquetry.  Life-long  friendships  with  the  gifted  and  the  brave  are  not  so  realized  ; 
enduring  memories  of  grace  and  congeniality  are  not  so  bequeathed.  It  was  be- 
cause Madame  Recamier,  instead  of  being  hardened  by  worldliness,  or  soured  by 
baffled  affection,  or  irritated  by  adversity,  lived  through  her  best  womanly  in- 
stincts, kept  pure  and  vivid  her  highest  and  quickest  sympathies,  and  so  placed 
herself  in  true  relations  with  ife  and  literature,  with  genius  and  character,  that 
her  agency  was  so  benign,  her  presence  so  inspiring,  and  her  memory  so  dear." 
Mrs.  Hale  in  Godey's  Lady's  Book 

"  The  letters,  of  which  the  book  is  mainly  composed,  are  delightful  to  lovers 
of  detail.     Those  of  Chateaubriand  in  particular  are  almost  a  record  of  the  las" 
twenty  years  of  his  life.     Those  who  would  see  the  influence  upon  great  men  of  a 
fascinating,  accomplished,  intellectual  woman,  will  find  it  in  these  letters." 
From  the  New  York  Evening-  Post. 

u  Madame  Re*camier  held  her  undisputed  and  marvellous  sway,  over  men  and 
women  alike,  by  her  exceeding  loveliness  of  person,  her  kindness  of  heart,  her 
good  sense  and  exquisite  tact,  —  a  sway  that  was  recognized  when  she  was  suffer- 
ing from  reverses  of  fortune,  as  well  as  when  she  was  enjoying  the  greatest  pros- 
perity- Perhaps  no  biography  was  ever  written  in  which  there  are  anecdotes  and 
glimpses  of  so  many  and  such  widely  differing  characters  as  in  these  memoirs. 
Covering  a  period  of  more  than  half  a  century,  full  »f  rapid  %nd  strange  changes, 
Madame  Recamier' s  "life"  has  a  historic  value,  and  the  letters  addressed  to  hei 
iake  us  behind  the  scenes  and  enable  us  to  understand  not  a  little  of  the  intrigues 
that  governed  and  the  actors  who  took  part  in  the  political  struggles  of  France 
and  Europe.  The  chief  value  of  the  volume  will  be  found  in  its  autobiographical 
portions  and  its  rich  and  diversified  correspondence." 


Sold  everywhere,  by  all  booksellers.     Mailed,  flost 
paid,  by  the  Publishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS.  Bovton 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Publications. 


Madame  Recamier  and  Her  Friends. 

From    the    French   of    Madame   Lenormant,   by  the 
Translator  of  "  Madame  Recamier's  Memoirs." 

One  volume,  uniform  with  "  Madame  Recamier's  Memoirs."    Price  #1.50 

From  the  A  tlantic  Monthly. 
This  volume  comes  to  supplement  the  "  Memoirs  and  Correspondence  of 
Madame  Recamier,"  which,  although  a  lively  and  exceedingly  entertaining  sketch 
of  the  society  of  the  Abbaye-aux-Bois,  occasioned  very  general  dissatisfaction 
among  both  its  French  and  American  readers ;  for,  being  made  up  of  letters  which 
were  written  to  her,  and  not  of  those  which  she  had  herself  penned,  it  did  not 
leave  upon  the  mind  any  clear,  definite  impression  of  the  real  character  of  Ma- 
dame Recamier,  into  whose  secret  history  all  the  world  was  curious  to  inquire. 
The  failure  of  that  copious  work  in  its  main  purpose  is  the  ostensible  cause  of  the 
existence  of  this  after  volume,  in  which  are  introduced  over  forty  of  the  private 
notes  and  letters  of  Madame  Recamier ;  these  are  as  graceful,  genial,  and  chatty 
as  any  of  the  gossip,  legitimized  under  the  name  of  memoirs,  recollections,  cor- 
respondence, or  what  not,  which  we  have  met  with,  but  they  hardly  fill  the  gap 
which  was  left  in  the  previous  volumes. 

From  the  Unitarian  Review. 
We  think  this  book  in  many  respects  much  more  valuable  than  the  last.  How- 
ever charming  the  other  was,  we  cannot  resist  the  feeling  that  it  must  have  been 
injurious  to  woman  of  society  with  us,  in  giving  them  a  longing  after  unreal 
pleasures  .  .  .  We  believe  in  the  friendships  of  men  and  women.  But  when  the 
blandishments  and  artificialities  of  fashionable  society  come  in,  there  is  danger 
that  the  dignity  of  the  sentiment  will  be  lost  in  the  passion  of  love.  This  second 
volume  shows  more  of  this  true  kind  of  friendship.  Madame  Recamier  was  in 
misfortune  ;  she  had  lost  her  health  ;  she  showed  patience,  courage,  disinterested- 
ness for  her  friends.  We  are  taken  captive  like  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  Her 
devotion  to  her  niece  was  touching ;  her  power  of  loving  beautiful.  Her  friends 
are  noble  men  like  Camille  Jordan  and  Mathieu  de  Montmorency,  the  one  warn- 
ing her  against  coquetrj ,  the  other  recommending  to  her  the  joys  of  religion. 
Chateaubriand  does  not  inspire  our  respect,  and  she  betrays  again  her  early  love 
jf  conquest  in  keeping  the  young  and  passionate  Ampere  so  long  at  her  side. 
We  must  not,  however,  compare  Madame  Recamier  with  our  highest  American 
or  English  ideal  of  what  a  woman  in  distinguished  social  position  should  be,  but 
with  the  voluptuous  and  ambitious  women  of  her  day  and  race,  and  we  shall  see 
Ler  standing  forth  a  bright  and  charming  and  beloved  vision,  far  transcending 
th>m  aU. 

♦— 

Sold  everywhere  by  all  Booksellers.     Mailed,  postpaid,  h 
the  Puleishers, 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,   Boston. 


THE    LIFE    AND     LETTERS    OF     MADAME 

SWETCHINE.     By  Count  de  Falloux.    1  vol.  16mo.    Price 
$150. 

THE  WRITINGS  OF  MADAME  SWETCHINE. 

Edited  by  Count  ds  Falloux.    1  vol.  16mo.    Price  $1.8*. 


MADAME  SWETCHINE. 

BY  LUCY  LARCOM. 

A  well-written  history  of  an  excellent  and  gifted  woman,  like  the  "Life  and 
Letters  of  Madame  Swetchine,"  by  Count  de  Falloux,  will  naturally  meet  with  a 
welcome  among  people  of  the  truest  culture.  Madame  Swetchine  was  not  a 
woman  who  courted  publicity  ;  but  the  thread  of  her  life  was  so  interwoven  with 
the  political  and  religious  movement?  of  her  time,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
escape  notice.  And  it  brightens  that  dark  period  of  strife  between  France  and 
Russia,  with  which  the  present  century  opened,  to  follow  the  life-track  of  this 
Russian  lady,  who  seemed  to  have  been  equally  at  home  in  both  countries. 

She  was  intimately  acquainted  with  the  noblest  men  and  women  of  that  re- 
markable period,  and  there  is  not  one  of  them  upon  whom  her  friendship  does  not 
cast  a  beautiful  glow.  ^ 

She  was  one  of  those  rare  beings  who  seem  to  have  been  created  to  draw  out 
what  is  best  in  others,  by  the  power  of  sympathy  and  self-f»rgetfulness.  She  was 
a  woman  of  uncommon  intellect,  and  of  wide  reading ;  and  every  thing  she  read 
was  brought  to  the  standard  of  a  judgment  remarkably  clear  and  penetrative 
indeed,  her  conversion  to  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  seems  to  have  been  mostly  a 
matter  of  the  head,  —  a  choice  between  the  Greek  and  the  Roman  ecclesiasticismg 
Long  before  her  decision  was  made,  her  life  shows  her  to  have  been  a  humble  and 
earnest  Christian;  and,  as  such,  as  one  whose  sympathies  took  wing  higher  and 
wider  than  the  opinions  in  which  she  had  caged  herself,  her  history  has  a  rare  value 

One  wonders  at  the  amount  of  good  accomplished  by  her,  always  a  weak  in 
valid.  In  order  to  understand  how  she  lived,  and  what  she  did,  the  book  must  b« 
read  through ;  but  some  extracts  might  give  a  hint  of  it :  — 

"She  rarely  gave  what  is  called  advice,  —  an  absolute  solution  of  a  given 
problem  :  her  humility  made  her  shrink  from  direct  responsibilities.  She  did  not 
lecture  you  She  did  not  set  herself  up  as  a  model  or  guide.  She  did  not  say 
'  Walk  thus  ; '  but  sweetly,  '  Let  us  walk  together; '  and  so,  without  making  the 
slightest  pretensions,  she  often  guided*  those  she  seemed  to  follow.  Young  and 
old  acknowledged  her  sway.  She  never  evoked  a  sentiment  of  rivalry,  because  no 
one  ever  detected  in  her  a  temptation  to  win  admiration  at  the  expense  of  others. 
or  to  eclipse  any  person  whatever.  Her  disinterestedness  won  pardon  for  her 
euperiority 

"  Sick  and  erring  hearts  came  and  revealed  themselves  to  Madame  Swetchine 
In  all  sincerity  ;  and  she  shed  upon  them,  sweetly  and  gradually,  light  and  truth 
and  life. 

"  In  her  turn  she  drew  from  this  intimate  intercourse,  added  to  her  own  ex- 
quisite penetration,  a  knowledge  of  the  human  heart  which  amounted  almost  to 
d'.  vination.     She  knew  the  science  of  the  soul  as  physicians  know  that  of  the  body. 

"  Her  charity  was  not  a  careless  and  mechanical  practice.  She  consecrated 
to  it  all  her  strength  and  all  her  skill.  Almsgiving  was  not,  with  her,  the  mew 
fulfilment  of  a  duty.  She  liked  to  give  pleasure  besides  doing  good,  and  ter 
heart  always  added  something  to  what  her  hand  gave." 

Madame  Swetchine  lived  a  little  beyond  the  boundaries  of  threescore  and  ten 
It  is  only  ten  years  since  she  died.  Heaven  does  not  ask  to  what  communion  shi 
belonged,  neither  will  posterity.  The  memory  of  her  saintliness  is  a  possession 
to  the  church  universal,  in  the  present  and  in  the  future.  Such  a  record  as  hen 
Is  an  inspiration  to  all  who  read ;  such  an  example,  the  most  imperatife  "  Ck 
thou  and  do  likewise  " 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.    Mailed,  postpaid,  by  the  publishers. 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS,  Bostow. 


f& 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


— 


a,™    NOV  211968 
513  «6» 


■ 

DISCHARGE 

DEC     41982 


RBC2) 


w» 


J,    FEfctf  «* 

War  o  7  »# 


REC'O  i  n  tiRL 

OCT  1  2  1990 

AC 

0HHLD    MAY  04  1992 

4*'0£  0^1994 
v  2 1 1997 


Form  L9-Series  444 


MCT2ME 


UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNJ 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 

LIBRARY 


3  1158  00819  6239 


